Hinterland
by wrongfun
Summary: AU. Tarrlok's fails in his attempt to kill Noatak. Guilt and a sense of duty force Katara to intervene, while other entities see Noatak as a problem to be eliminated or exploited. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant tries to play a poor hand well, and ends up with more than he'd bargained for. (This is a fairly Tarrlok-centric fic, but it contains some bitter Amon/Lieutenant.)
1. Prologue: Precedent

It's summer. There's mud and grass underfoot. Noatak will always remember it vividly.

He finds Tarrlok standing at the edge of a small cliff overlooking the beach. Tarrlok is peering over it, his hands clenched into fists.

"Tarrlok?" Noatak calls out. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Dad's going to kill us both. What are you-"

Tarrlok flinches and turns around to face him. "Don't come any closer!"

Great, what now? "Why not?"

"I'm thinking," Tarrlok says.

Noatak sighs. "What're-"

"If I'm hurt, Dad won't make me practice, right?"

It takes a moment for Noatak to understand the question. The cliff isn't so high that a fall is likely to be fatal, but it's high enough to cause injury. "Maybe. Maybe not. Come away from the edge."

Tarrlok shakes his head. "I figure that if I just break a leg or something-"

"He'd get Mom to fix it, and then I'd get yelled at for not looking after you. Do you want me to get in trouble?"

Tarrlok gives him an odd look. "He likes you; he won't stay mad at you forever."

"It's still a dumb idea. What if you break your neck? It's not like you've got any control over what happens."

Of course, that just makes Tarrlok angry. "I don't care. I _hope_ I break my neck."

Noatak doesn't have time for this. "Don't be an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot!" Tarrlok yells. "You think you're so great, you think you know everything, but you don't. You're more scared of Dad than I am and you think that if you keep doing what he says, everything will be okay, but it won't be. Nothing is ever going to get better. _You're_ an idiot."

"Fine. Jump off the cliff. I won't stop you," Noatak says, because all Tarrlok ever does is make things worse for himself. Noatak almost turns away - he's willing to return home and face the consequences - but something makes him pause.

Tarrlok steps backwards, onto nothing.

And Noatak stops thinking. His heart lurches in his chest. Time slows down. The universe shrinks to the size of a moment.

Noatak isn't close enough to catch his brother with his hands. He closes his eyes. The entire world is water: plants, clouds, mud, sea, Tarrlok. Noatak reaches out.

He holds Tarrlok's shape with his mind. It isn't a conscious choice. It's as instinctive as blinking. Tarrlok yelps in pain and surprise.

Noatak gently sets him down on the beach below.

When he opens his eyes and looks over the edge of the cliff, he finds Tarrlok looking back up, wide-eyed and open mouthed, as if he can't decide whether to be outraged or relieved.

"Are you going to come home now, or what?" Noatak says, but only because he can't articulate how angry he is.

With awful predictability, Tarrlok bursts into tears.

Twenty-seven years later, some things are still as instinctive as blinking.

Once they reach land, Noatak coughs up seawater until he passes out.

The first thing he sees is Tarrlok sitting several paces away, looking out to sea. When he realizes the extent of Tarrlok's injuries, he has to fight the urge to be sick. He's seen many burns before - countless ones - but this is different.

Noatak forces himself to focus, taking deep breaths. Then he stands, limps over, and takes Tarrlok's good arm. He can't think beyond getting them both to shelter. Tarrlok doesn't resist.

Following an estuary leads them to an empty boathouse. The roof is half collapsed and the interior smells of stagnant water, but it's adequate.

Noatak draws fresh water from the grass and uses it to treat their burns to the best of his ability. Tarrlok doesn't flinch as he gently eases blackened fabric from raw skin.

They have nothing to say to each other.

It'd be easy to sleep, maybe sleep forever, but Noatak can't allow that. Despite the pain, he goes out and hunts for them both.

When he returns to their makeshift camp, he almost expects Tarrlok to be gone, but Tarrlok is still there.

Noatak makes an ice blade and uses it to skin the animals while his brother watches. It reminds him of when he was young. (Once, as a teenager, he'd tried to separate the viscera from a carcass without using his hands; the small, headless body had sat upright on its hind legs while its intestines uncoiled from its belly, and Tarrlok had shouted at him to stop.)

Tarrlok's indifferent gaze remains fixed on Noatak's face the entire time.

Noatak tells himself that things could be worse.

It isn't long before Noatak sits in front of Tarrlok and repeats, "I'm sorry."

Tarrlok gives no acknowledgment that he's heard.

Noatak sits there until the sun sinks below the horizon; then he stands, and escapes to somewhere out of Tarrlok's sight.

At dawn, Noatak checks his reflection in the water, just to make sure that he looks contrite. He is sorry, isn't he?

They leave the boathouse before too long, as they need medical supplies. They follow the estuary northwards. Where there's a river, there's bound to be people, sooner or later.

Noatak has funds set aside as a contingency plan. He assumes that Tarrlok has a similar arrangement. They just need to reach one of the larger towns. Then they'll be set.

"Tarrlok," Noatak says, as the hours drag on and the silence accumulates. "Say something."

And if Tarrlok is in any way satisfied by the abject note in Noatak's voice, he hides it well.

They reach a farmstead. Noatak tells Tarrlok to stay behind, then heads towards the main building under the cover of nightfall. His injuries keep him from moving as smoothly as he'd like (the pain across his back makes him think of the animals he skinned earlier, red-raw and wet), but he still slips like a shadow across the frozen ground. The waning moon is high and bright.

Two dogs lie on the porch of the house; Noatak senses them before they notice him, and pins them in place. He feels them try to struggle. He keeps them silent.

Getting inside is easy. The house consists of two rooms - a living area and a bedroom - and there are are four human heartbeats within the latter, but they're all slow. Noatak is confident enough to wander in and look: just a small family, a husband, a wife, a little girl, and a grandmother. The wife snores loudly.

Sleep makes them all look fragile. Noatak thinks of firebenders. He also wonders what he'd do if someone woke up. Firebenders are the least of their worries.

The sooner he leaves, the better. He makes a beeline for an old chest and rummages through it until - finally - he finds some suitable clothing and a thin bed sheet. Part of his attention remains on the dogs the entire time; it'll just make trouble if he kills them by accident.

Then he closes the chest behind him and walks out. The dogs only whimper when he lets them go, and he's a safe distance away by then.

Tarrlok is exactly where he left him, still sitting in the same position, although he lifts his head when he notices the bundle tucked under Noatak's arm.

"They're just clothes," Noatak says.

Tarrlok gives him a long look.

"They're just clothes," Noatak repeats, then feels childish. He places the bundle of clothing by Tarrlok's side before turning away, busying himself with tearing the bedsheet into strips and placing them in a neat pile.

Behind him, there's the rustle of fabric.

Eventually, Tarrlok's good hand snatches a bandage from the pile.

"Do you want me to-" Noatak begins, but falters. Do you want me to help? He can hear the answer perfectly: _No thank you, Noatak - I've seen your idea of help._

Noatak begins the awkward process of bandaging his own back, and consoles himself with the fact that Tarrlok seems a little better.

They pass through a small fishing village. Noatak trades some animal pelts for medicine and a hunting knife. He asks for directions. He takes risks. He lets Tarrlok slip out of his sight. He gives Tarrlok a hundred opportunities.

The two of them are conspicuous. They're covered in bandages. Their clothes don't fit properly. They look dangerously interesting. The village is quiet and has no telephone lines, but even so: they are not safe there. All it takes is for Tarrlok to say the wrong (right?) thing.

Yet nothing changes.

It's only when they're traveling across the wilderness again that something inside Noatak snaps under the weight of the long hours, and he thinks about how easy it would be to _make_ Tarrlok speak to him. He's bloodbent Tarrlok before; he wouldn't be proving anything that Tarrlok doesn't already know.

But... no. Noatak is just tired, that's all.

He makes one last attempt at conversation. Words were always more effective anyway. "You're not going to forgive me, are you?"

To his surprise, Tarrlok actually answers, though he sounds different from before. "You're too much of a disappointment."

Many others would say the same. Noatak doesn't try to offer another apology. "So leave. Move on," he says, because apparently he's still in the habit of saying incredibly stupid things to his brother.

"That'd be convenient, wouldn't it?" Tarrlok replies. "But I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Noatak resumes walking, relieved in spite of himself.

Later, when they're settling down for the night under the shelter of some trees, Tarrlok speaks again. "You could go back to the city and turn yourself in."

Noatak looks at him. Tarrlok's eyes are brighter; he seems more present.

Tarrlok even smiles. "Not that you would."

It takes a moment for Noatak to respond. There are many things he could say. _Do you think that the authorities are in any way qualified to condemn us? Do you think we'd be treated fairly? Do you think we'd be given anything other than a show trial? Do you think justice would be served?_ But instead, he looks down at his hands, and asks, "Do you want to turn yourself in?"

"It'd be closure," says Tarrlok simply.

"They'd tear you apart. Imagine it: two generations of bloodbenders tried in Republic City," Noatak replies, though his voice is Amon's rather than his own. "At best, posterity would remember you as something broken and pitiable. Your history would be public knowledge, and you'd be seen as a sad sort of novelty. You'd have no privacy, no respect."

Tarrlok just stares at him, then shakes his head and says, mostly to himself, "Of course."

Noatak bites his tongue and lets the matter drop.

In the morning, Tarrlok scratches at the scabs on his face and murmurs, "I wonder what that Lieutenant of yours is doing right now."

Noatak has enough self-control to avoid flinching, although he still misses the protection of the mask.

Tarrlok adds, "It's a pity that he and I can't get together and compare notes."

His brother is obviously fishing for a reaction, so Noatak indulges him. "What's your point?"

"I want to know if you're capable of caring about someone other than yourself."

"I care about you."

"You hardly know me. I'm not a person to you, I'm some sort of..." Tarrlok drops his hands to his sides, pausing to find the right words. "...Some sort of nostalgic cipher. I'm a stand-in for a sniffly, oversensitive eleven-year-old who you only vaguely remember."

Noatak meets his eyes. "Councilman Tarrlok. You arrived in the city in 'fifty-two, studied at the university on a scholarship, then joined the police. You did a stint in the marine unit before requesting a transfer to the South District, whereupon you climbed through the ranks and developed a reputation for being, ah, sagacious. You made enemies, but not powerful ones. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a career in politics. Your conservative outlook went down well very with the Northern Water Tribe, who'd become rather reactionary in the face of rising crime and changing social mores. But..." Noatak takes a deep breath. "You're morose when drunk. The last woman you courted was Seonhwa Kung, heir to the Kung Trading Company; the courtship lasted three months. You were admitted to hospital a year ago after accidentally dropping an antique qulliq on your right foot. You claim to dislike animals, yet you keep ornamental fish. Your favorite restaurant is The Three Lanterns on Magnolia Street, even though it doesn't suit your image. You buy most of your clothing from Tan's on North Gate Road. You have a weakness for historical novels set in the Chun Tai era. You collect calligraphy. You seem to assume that most people are idiots. Your methods have become more brazen over time; sometimes you fail to hide your contempt for others. You probably waver between seeing yourself as incredibly intelligent and incredibly stupid. You still bite your nails when you think no one is watching. I could go on."

"Please don't," Tarrlok says.

Noatak falls silent.

Tarrlok offers a politician's grin. "All those years, you could've written once."

Noatak takes the comment as sarcasm and doesn't rise to it.

Tarrlok's grin doesn't waver. "So, is this the reunion you'd hoped for? Perhaps we can torture some wildlife together and bond over the fact that we're both habitual liars with an unhealthy interest in teenage girls."

Noatak gives him a level look.

"What did you do to her, anyway?" Tarrlok asks.

"She won't be a problem." Noatak tries to sound certain.

Tarrlok doesn't reply.

"If you turn yourself in, the authorities will be more lenient," Tarrlok tells him, later in the day.

Noatak almost smiles. Tarrlok has always been stubborn, although his bluntness is a little surprising. "I doubt that."

"So you'll spend the rest of your life as a fugitive, then?" Tarrlok makes a moue of distaste; the expression makes him look more like the little brother Noatak once knew. "What will you do if you're caught? Fight?"

"I'll be careful," Noatak says.

"Being careful isn't enough. I'm sure you've thought you were 'being careful' before, but... Well. Look how that turned out."

"I'll take my chances." Noatak still avoids Tarrlok's gaze. "You must have given thought as to how they'd imprison a bloodbender. I don't intend to spend the rest of my life in solitary confinement, sedated out of my mind."

Something in that sentence makes Tarrlok pause. "You don't think they'll just try to kill you on sight?" he says, although Noatak senses that this isn't the question he really wants to ask.

"I know things that would be useful to them."

"All the more reason to turn yourself in, then. You have something to bargain with."

Noatak just shakes his head. "If _you_ want to return to the city, I wouldn't stop you," he says, although he's not sure if that's true.

"That's a nice sentiment, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me. I've decided that you shouldn't be alone. There's nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose."

"Oh," Noatak says, though he's extremely grateful.

They continue walking in silence for a little while. The winter sky is a bright blue, almost unreal, with wispy clouds sketched across it. On either side of the road, fields stretch out past the horizon. Noatak can't help associating the quiet with the North. Republic City was always so noisy. He'd forgotten what peace was like.

He notices that Tarrlok is studying him. Tarrlok's lips are pursed, though his eyes are unreadable.

"What?" Noatak asks.

"To be honest," Tarrlok says, "sometimes it's difficult to believe you're him."

Noatak forces a smile. "That's fair enough. I'm not entirely sure who I am, either."

"You're the former leader of a terrorist faction who attacked civilians."

"I suppose so," Noatak replies.

Tarrlok's expression hardens. He stands still, opens his mouth, pauses, and then shakes his head.

Noatak almost asks: _you think I'm insane, don't you?_ But he isn't very interested in hearing the answer.

Tarrlok quickly recovers his composure and resumes walking, although he still studies Noatak's face. "On that note, I've been wondering: if your coup had been successful, would you have let me out of my cell?"

"Of course." In time.

It's then that Tarrlok glances away, as if he can't stand looking at him.

They reach a town. It has telephone lines, and Noatak is willing to bet that most of the households own a radio. There are even a few Satomobiles on the streets, although they move slowly so as to avoid disturbing the ostrich horses that are far more common.

Noatak's first action is to head to the bank. He still doesn't feel safe, but when will he ever? In the meantime, they need money. His paperwork is a little crumpled after being hidden under his clothing for so long, but it's miraculously legible, save for the odd scorch mark.

He hides his unease very well, and the bank teller refrains from asking difficult questions.

Once he has money in his pocket, he finds Tarrlok waiting outside, and says, "We should leave."

Tarrlok gives him a blank look. "Ah. Is that the plan? We keep walking until one of us keels over and dies from infection?"

"We're still too close to-" Noatak begins.

"We're both tired, miserable, and in pain. I'm missing half my fingers, and it looks like someone tried to skin you alive but got bored and gave up part way though. We're not getting any healthier. We need rest. This town is reasonably large. We're going to stay at a proper inn, just for one night. Do you understand?"

It's been a very long time since someone last gave Noatak orders. It takes him a moment to figure out what to say.

"I... perhaps you have a point," he replies, not because he agrees with Tarrlok, but because he wants to humor him.

"There's hope for you yet," Tarrlok mutters.

It's not really a proper inn as such - the walls are peeling, and there's a persistent mildew smell - but it has cheap rooms. Noatak doesn't know how long his money will need to last. He should sit down and plan ahead, but it's difficult to think beyond an hour at a time. There's a seaport a few days west, and they just have to reach it, and then they'll go... somewhere. Back to the North. That was his original idea, when his mind was clearer.

Once the door is closed behind them, Noatak inspects the room's windows, then slumps down on one of the beds. He needs to think.

He closes his eyes, as if that'll help. And when he opens them again, it's dark outside.

"Tarrlok?" he murmurs, cotton-mouthed.

"I'm still here," Tarrlok replies. He's sitting on the floor, and he looks different, and... spirits, what is he doing?

Noatak sits up and stares.

Tarrlok is trying to cut his hair short. He does this by holding a lock in his mouth to keep it taut, then sawing through the lock with the hunting knife. The result already looks terrible.

"Why are you doing that?" Noatak asks, still sleepy and stupid.

"I don't want to catch lice from the bedding here. Also you wouldn't believe what I used to spend on hair oil."

"Well. Stop."

Tarrlok gives him a very odd look. "Excuse me?"

"You're making it worse." Noatak hauls himself off the bed and walks over, holding out a hand for the knife. "Let me do it."

Tarrlok gives an abrupt little laugh, but offers the knife anyway.

Noatak sits behind him. He takes a clump of hair and cuts through it, trying to be careful. It'd be so much easier with scissors.

"Remember when we went to the capital, and some brat put stew in your hood and pulled it over your head, so you pushed him in a canal?" Noatak says.

Tarrlok is silent for a moment. "...I don't remember that at all."

"You were barely four years old. I think we were there for cousin Neema's wedding. I took my eyes off you for two minutes to get some food, and then I heard this shriek of rage and a splash."

"I don't think I was the sort of child who pushed people in canals," Tarrlok says.

_You have always been the sort of child who pushes people in canals_, Noatak thinks, but keeps it to himself. "Well, that's what happened. It was a good job Mother rescued the boy before he froze to death."

There's another thoughtful silence. "Did the other boy have a gap in his front teeth, and pale skin? And a broad nose?"

"He did, yes."

"Ah. That might have been Kianbak. Second cousin, I think. I always wondered why he didn't like me."

"Whatever happened to him?"

"He became a shipwright, got married, had too many children, that sort of thing," Tarrlok says, as if that's the epitome of dullness.

Noatak wants to ask questions - what about the rest of their relatives, where are they all now? - but decides against it.

Still, against his better judgment, he keeps talking. "You really don't remember?"

"No."

"What _is_ your earliest memory?"

Tarrlok almost answers, but seems to change his mind at the last second. "Sentimentality won't help, you know."

Noatak bites his tongue and focuses on cutting Tarrlok's hair.

When he's finished, he sits back, and says, "You look like a bandit." One of the more pitiful ones that you get in the far east, thanks to the droughts.

Tarrlok turns around to look at him, eyebrows raised. "Well, you know how it is for nonbenders. Lack of opportunities force us into crime, and so on. Allegedly."

"Your speech still is too middle-class," Noatak says. If Tarrlok wants to bait him, he'll have to be more subtle about it.

"Are you saying that middle-class nonbenders aren't terribly oppressed as well?"

Noatak shakes his head. "You know, it's a little late to be telling you this, but cutting your hair short won't stop you from getting lice. They lay eggs in the seams of your clothing. It helps somewhat if you use a candle to-"

"Thank you, Noatak," Tarrlok interrupts, primly.

Noatak goes out and buys extra clothing and food for them both. He returns with baozi. Tarrlok dissects the buns before eating them, and despite all that's happened, Noatak tries not to laugh.

"You can't give me my bending back, can you?" Tarrlok asks out of nowhere, mid-way through inspecting the last bun.

_Yes. No. Maybe. Why would you even want it?_ Noatak forces a smile that's meant to be reassuring, and answers, "For you, I could try."

That makes Tarrlok stare at him. "Oh. It'd be a special favor, would it? How generous."

"Come over here," Noatak says.

Tarrlok still stares. "What are you going to do?"

"Heal you. That's all."

"Have you ever managed it before?"

"No," Noatak answers, truthfully. "There wasn't much cause to try."

"So I'd be an experiment, would I? Not your first, I'd imagine, though probably the first one to actually consent."

There's no good way for Noatak to answer that. Some of his subjects were volunteers, but that might not count for much.

Despite Noatak's silence, Tarrlok moves closer until he's sitting within arm's reach. "I don't trust you," he says flatly, "But if you can do this, then that's a start."

Noatak thinks for a moment, unsure of the best way to do things, then places his thumbs on Tarrlok's temples, framing his face with his hands. It's so different from when...

"Is the physical contact really required?" Tarrlok asks, derailing Noatak's train of thought.

"It helps."

"Ah. I always wondered if the thumb-on-forehead thing was just for show." Tarrlok closes his good hand around Noatak's left wrist. "I've also wondered if you have any idea what it's like to lose your bending."

"I've thought about it. I've spoken to people. Not everyone wants their bending. People who can't control it, for instance. There's a demand for suppressants; you must have heard about the ongoing research in Ba Sing Se. And sometimes individuals lose their abilities due to psychological conditions-"

"That doesn't answer my question. I'll rephrase it: do you have any idea what it's like to have your bending taken from you?"

Perhaps. A little. Noatak has lost fights to other chi blockers (albeit a long time ago), but that's hardly the same. He asks (because he's Noatak now, not Amon, and he no longer has to pretend that he knows everything), "What it's like?"

Tarrlok studies his face again. He seems surprised, though he hides it well. If he was preparing himself for an argument, then the impetus is lost. "Probably like losing your own name," he says, then reconsiders. "Actually, no - that's a terrible comparison. Alright, I suppose it's like being put in a cell and watching the door close. It's the realization that your future will be very different from what you imagined. That, you know, all the hours you've invested in something are now worth nothing."

Noatak tries to think of something to say.

"Or it's not like any of those things at all," Tarrlok adds, and lets go of Noatak's wrist so he can airily wave his hand. "Anyway. Get on with it."

"Let me know if it feels strange."

"Strange relative to what?"

"Well, if you notice a headache, or visual disturbances, or-"

"That was a rhetorical question," Tarrlok says, and repeats: "Get on with it."

Very well. Noatak closes his eyes.

Tarrlok's blood stands out sharply against the darkness, a tangle of intricate rivers. Noatak can visualize it, although it's more of a tactile thing; the blood pulls at him, exerting a gentle force. He ignores the rush of the arteries and the lazier flow of the fat, delicate veins, and focuses on the capillaries that worm deep into Tarrlok's brain. It's easy to find the spot where the capillaries aren't quite right - they're too weak, and there aren't enough of them - though repairing the damage would require inhuman finesse. It's easy to ruin something delicate. It's another thing to mend it.

He tries anyway. (And if he really concentrates, it's not just blood he perceives; _blood is the mother to chi_, and so on.)

Noatak focuses, pushes.

And then Tarrlok's hands shove against his chest, almost knocking him backwards. He opens his eyes just in time to see Tarrlok recoiling away from him.

"How did you..." Noatak begins to ask. Tarrlok shouldn't have felt anything. Not yet, at least.

"I don't- that was-..." Tarrlok gives him a strange look. "...What have you been doing to people?"

Noatak reaches out, wanting to reassure him. "I don't take their bending away. I change the way they think."

"Oh. I suppose that makes it _acceptable_, then," Tarrlok snaps.

"Are you alright?"

Tarrlok doesn't bother to reply.

Noatak still holds up his hands, like an idiot. "I could still do it, I think, if-"

"I've changed my mind. I don't want it back," Tarrlok says.

Noatak is speechless for a second, unsure whether he should argue. Everything is backwards.

Tarrlok seems to collect himself, then stands and brushes the dust off his clothing. "Give me a moment," he says, deceptively calm, before leaving the room.

Noatak doesn't try to stop him.

The night passes. Noatak waits. Tarrlok returns before sunrise, although Noatak still expects the worst.

Tarrlok crosses the room and goes to lean against the wall furthest away from him.

"Have you been sitting there looking miserable the entire time I was gone?" Tarrlok asks.

Again, there's no good way to answer that.

Tarrlok rubs at his brow. "What are we going to do with you?"

Noatak forces a smile. "I'm surprised you haven't reported me to the authorities yet."

"I don't trust them to deal with you properly," Tarrlok says, although that might be an excuse. "You're too dangerous, and if they mishandle things, the consequences will be ugly. Still..."

Noatak observes the way Tarrlok hesitates. He studies his face, reading the worry in the lines around his mouth and eyes.

"You're meant to be good at thinking ahead. You can't be... I mean, you can't have completely lost your wits. You must know you can't run forever," Tarrlok tells him.

"Then I'll make the best of my time with you while I can." Noatak keeps his voice level, if quiet.

"That's not the answer I wanted to hear, Noa," Tarrlok says, then ends the conversation by walking over to one of the sleeping mats, curling up, and pulling the blanket around himself.

Noatak resumes waiting.

They leave the inn and head west, to the seaport. Traveling by air would be faster, but it doesn't require so much paperwork to travel by ship, providing you know where to ask. It should be straightforward. _Should_ be.

The landscape becomes more interesting. The fields give way to marshes, and then the marshes give way to small lakes. One lake has a temple nestled by it; the building is a crude copy of Northern architecture, with a crescent carved on the gate. It's so scruffy-looking that it makes Noatak feel a sort of... well, a sort of cultural embarrassment, even though he hasn't thought of himself as a Tribesman in a very long time.

Tarrlok gives the temple a pointed look as they pass it. "We should stop."

"We stopped at the town," Noatak replies, but pauses, eyeing Tarrlok's injuries. "Has the pain got any worse?"

"No. I'm fine." Granted, Tarrlok has always been a very good liar. "Or I'm as fine as I'm going to be under the present circumstances, anyway. I just thought we should see a qualified healer."

"There'll be healers in the North," Noatak says. "Good ones."

"Oh. Is that where we're meant to be going?" Tarrlok laughs. "You know, I hadn't thought about our destination until just now. Isn't that strange? Do you think we'll actually get there?"

"It's possible."

"And what will we do if we get that far?"

"I intend to live a very quiet life."

"What, settle down, marry a nice girl, produce a couple of children?"

Tarrlok's problem is that he's never been able to resist a cheap shot. "_That_ was a little on the nose," Noatak tells him.

"Someone has to state the obvious, since you're willfully ignoring it."

Noatak manages to hold Tarrlok's gaze. "I'm going to find somewhere remote, and let people forget about me. I promise."

Tarrlok smiles very slightly. "You'll get bored. Do you trust yourself?"

Noatak has to think before answering. In the end, the best he can say is, "We've survived this long. Give me a chance to prove myself."

"You don't really need to run off to the North to do that."

Noatak takes a deep breath, exasperated all of a sudden. "Tarrlok. I can't stay in the United Republic."

"You know, you're really a little dense at times," Tarrlok says. "You can't outrun a guilty conscience. You're not thinking at all, are you? You're just blindly following some sort of imbecilic homing instinct because you believe that, if you return to the right place with the right person, the world will magically reset itself and the past twenty-six years will mean nothing."

"Don't be ridiculous," Noatak says, because it's not that simple. And returning to the city won't change anything, anyway. He needs to go away and collect himself, and plan ahead.

Tarrlok sighs. "Regardless, the North is a terrible choice. Too obvious. It's the first place anyone will look."

"And you'd suggest?"

"Excuse me, I'm going to going to advise you on your new career as a fugitive," Tarrlok says, then changes tack. "Though perhaps it won't really matter where you go."

Noatak worries that Tarrlok has a point.

They find places to rest; the countryside is forgiving, and the 'winters' here barely merit the name - at worst, they're dark and damp, with snow drifts that barely reach your waist. Noatak is relieved to discover that his time in the City hasn't softened him much. Despite his poor health, he finds the terrain easy and the weather tolerable. He might be able to survive on the road indefinitely.

After he hunts, he gives Tarrlok the best cuts of meat, until Tarrlok realizes this and tells him, "I'm not an invalid."

"You don't eat enough," Noatak replies.

Tarrlok gives him a withering look. "You're trying too hard. Actually, I think you look more sickly than I do."

Noatak shrugs (he disagrees - but then, he hasn't seen his reflection in a while) and turns the piece of game roasting over the fire. The meat blackens; fat crackles as skin splits.

"How are your injuries?" Tarrlok asks.

"They're tolerable."

"Can I see them?"

Noatak wonders what's behind Tarrlok's request. Morbid interest? Guilt? A desire to see his own handiwork? Regardless, he removes the layers of clothing from his upper body. The night isn't too cold. (It's possible that he has a slight temperature.)

Tarrlok moves behind him to get a better look at his back, then mutters, "Those are the most disgusting bandages I've ever seen." He peels away some of the dressing, as much as he can without pulling the scabs off, and remains silent for a moment.

Then he says, "I don't regret what I did, you know."

Noatak assumed as much, although that doesn't make things any easier.

He breathes in, slowly. "Well, next time, use a more sensible method."

"Next time?"

"As you've said, I can't run forever. And I know you. I'm not the Noatak you remember, and if you think I pose a threat to others, you'll see my death as your last shot at redemption. "

Tarrlok places a hand on Noatak's back. When he speaks again, he sounds tired. "I've thought about it. I'd still prefer it if you went back to the city and turned yourself in. If you want my forgiveness, then those are my terms."

Noatak closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face. A proclivity for holding grudges runs in the family.

He's exhausted. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he spent the rest of his life in a cell, if it meant he could get some rest.

But no, it doesn't have to end like that. Perhaps there's a third option.

Perhaps he could make Tarrlok forgive him.

Then he realizes what he's considering, and feels disgusted with himself.

"If I turn myself in, I'm as good as dead anyway," Noatak says, to distract himself from his thoughts. "If anything, death would be kinder and less humiliating. You understand that, don't you? It's not atonement you want. It's revenge."

There's a pause, slightly too long, and then Tarrlok inhales sharply. "That's not it. You could help repair the damage you've caused. You have things to offer, like you said. You could be useful-"

Noatak remembers the revulsion in Tarrlok's expression after he tried to restore his bending. "Don't you think the things I know are best forgotten?"

"You've set a precedent. You've demonstrated bloodbending's capabilities. Others will try to imitate you, though I wish it were otherwise. By this point, the best thing we can do is try to understand rather than condemn."

Poor Tarrlok. Idealism doesn't suit him. "And do you think you could convince the Council of that?"

"The Avatar might listen."

"The same Avatar you tried to kidnap?" Noatak says, just before it occurs to him that Tarrlok is out of his mind. Tarrlok is meant to be better at arguing than this.

"What other options are there?"

Noatak keeps his eyes closed. "Tarrlok, I'd never willingly return to Republic City. The conditions of your forgiveness are impossible to meet."

"I see," Tarrlok says, unsurprised.

It's as good a time as any to mention it, so: "I took the Avatar's bending away."

That makes Tarrlok shut up for a second.

Might as well be honest. "Well, most of her bending," Noatak admits.

Tarrlok draws a breath, much like their father used to when he was preparing to shout at someone. "...What do you mean, 'most of'?"

"Apparently she was still capable of airbending." Noatak already regrets raising the subject.

There's no anger, though. Just exasperation. "I wondered how she beat you."

She didn't beat him. She was lucky. However, there's no way Noatak can say that without sounding bitter.

Tarrlok is quiet for a moment, probably thinking, before he says, "You really are a very stupid man."

Noatak almost turns around to look at him.

"So, you managed to terrorize a maladjusted seventeen year old. Are you proud of yourself?" Tarrlok adds.

It's not that simple. "She isn't just some child, Tarrlok. She's the Avatar."

"Yes, that's what I used to tell myself, before I decided to try behaving like an adult."

Noatak shakes his head. "Don't frame her as an innocent victim. You know what she's capable of."

"She lacks common sense and restraint because she's young. What's your excuse?"

Noatak rubs his temples. He knows he ought to keep his mouth shut, but: "People paint the Avatar as a poor little girl whenever they want to malign those who challenge her, and yet she's still treated as an important figure with adult responsibilities whenever the establishment needs a figurehead. It's very expedient."

"Don't try to digress. You didn't _need_ to pick a fight with her. There were other ways to change things."

"Perhaps I would've seen other options as viable if Republic City hadn't been so rife with political corruption."

There's another uncomfortable pause, and then Tarrlok laughs, incredulous but resigned. "Alright. You can try to shift the blame and argue that I don't have much of a moral high ground. But my lack of a moral high ground just means I understand you better."

"And what are you going to do with me?"

Tarrlok removes his hand from Noatak's back, and moves to sit at his side. "What can I do? I've never been able to stop you from doing anything." His tone is matter-of-fact, but the resentment is still clear.

Noatak almost winces, although it'd be a mistake to see Tarrlok as hapless and ineffectual. "You'll figure something out."

Tarrlok eyes him, weighing him up, then says, "Is this how it has to go, then?"

"I'll trust your judgment."

"Don't... just..." Tarrlok says, anger making his voice crack. "Just don't try to twist the situation to make yourself seem tragic and self-sacrificing. _I'm_ the one who has to deal with the consequence of your actions. And if you die, then what? What would I do afterwards? That was the whole idea of the... what I did earlier; it was _convenient_, and- do you ever actually think?"

Apparently not. "I'm sorry," says Noatak, although the phrase might be a little meaningless by now. He decides, distantly, that he doesn't want to be Noatak anymore.

"Then take responsibility for things," Tarrlok replies. "Don't force my hand. Don't make me act against you."

Noatak watches the fire. It's strange, when he thinks about it: a very long time ago, in a different life when he'd been too young to know better, there were times when he'd found Tarrlok annoying. (And Tarrlok, for the most part, had been patient and affectionate.) Now he's the proverbial cangue around Tarrlok's neck, in a way his child self would've never foreseen.

If he's honest with himself - though it comes a little too late, and doesn't suit him - he can admit that he stopped being Tarrlok's older brother a very long time ago.

"I haven't done you any favors in life, have I?" Noatak says.

Tarrlok opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates as if holding something back. "You could." He pauses. "You could help people. Like I said."

Except that's what Noatak thought he was doing, once, a very long time ago. Tarrlok is willfully forgetting certain things. Everyone has their own ideas about what 'help' means.

It doesn't matter anyway. Nothing is going to change. Noatak doesn't regret leading the Equalists. He regrets some of his actions, but not his ambitions. He has no desire to surrender or negotiate. Compromise won't fix anything. The world will remain irrevocably broken regardless of what they choose (and, on some level, Tarrlok must already know that, otherwise he wouldn't have tried to do what he did). Noatak is tempted to say as much, but he reminds himself that Tarrlok isn't in his right mind. There's no point arguing.

"No," he says, and doesn't try to apologize again. Apologies require sincerity, and sincerity requires sentiment, and he's always thrived on coldness. He's trying to be as dispassionate as possible, for both their sakes. Sentimentality won't help, as Tarrlok has said. "It won't work. You'll never forgive me, and I don't expect you to. The most responsible, unselfish thing I can do is remove myself from your life."

"You-" Tarrlok begins, then shuts up for a moment to process Noatak's words.

"As you've just said, you're the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions," Noatak adds. "You think that you're the only person who can deal with me, in one way or another. Therefore, I don't want to be your burden."

"You don't get to decide that, you sanctimonious ass," Tarrlok says, very slowly.

_Actually, I do_, Noatak thinks, _because I'm stronger than you, and life isn't fair_. All of Noatak's attempts to change things have simply proven this fact. There's no point in discussing it. He's made up his mind.

All it takes is a careful pressure to the arteries in Tarrlok's neck.

It happens slowly enough for Tarrlok to realize what's going on. "You're not-..."

He is. Noatak still wants to apologize anyway. He's also wants to tell Tarrlok that he'll be careful, that he knows what he's doing, that he won't cause any permanent damage - but that might not be terribly reassuring under the circumstances.

Tarrlok's good hand moves to his throat. "Don't. This won't solve anything."

"Perhaps it'll stop things from getting worse for you, though," Noatak says. Self-destruction is all very well, but he has no intention of dragging Tarrlok down with him.

"You're completely ridiculous. Do you even listen to anything I say without reinterpreting it to suit yourself? You r-... If-" Tarrlok manages to steel himself, buying time. He's now a very different Tarrlok from the one who asked 'what can I do?' a moment ago. "...This isn't a solution. This is just you being a paternalistic idiot who... who..."

Noatak catches Tarrlok's shoulders as he passes out.

"We'll have to agree to disagree," Noatak says.

Unconsciousness does little to smooth out Tarrlok's features. Noatak will remember his brother's frown for the rest of his life. He carefully brushes a strand of hair from Tarrlok's face, as if the gesture counts for something, and ignores the nagging feeling that he's abandoning the one person who might still need him. (Because who else does Tarrlok have, now?)

And, though he tries to dispel it from his mind, he still remembers what Tarrlok said days ago: there's nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose.

Noatak doesn't know if he's doing the right thing, but how can you ever tell? What if everything still comes down to selfishness, in the end?

Awareness comes to Tarrlok in glimpses. He sees mud and grass. He manages to figure out that he's being carried again, and he knows he should be angry about that, but it's difficult to think for very long. The world keeps fading in and out of darkness.

There's only one thought he can hold on to, and it's this: what's the point in being a prodigy if you're still woefully stupid?

Tarrlok eventually wakes to the sound of water. His mouth is dry and he has a headache.

"Noa?" he calls, sitting up, then remembers that he shouldn't use his brother's name.

Things come into focus. He looks over his shoulder and sees a stone fountain (topped with a statue of Yue bearing a pitcher of water; it's a little tacky, actually) and humble wooden walls. The room (no, hallway - it's large, with a high ceiling) smells of disinfectant.

He stands (it feels like there's a marlinspike stuck in his forehead) and tries to head to the nearest door _without_ the indignity of throwing up, thank you. A woman in healer's robes appears from somewhere like a ghost and tells him to sit down, but he ignores her - he has enough to deal with - and staggers outside. There's blue sky, a green lake, a road in the distance. He looks back at the building he just came from. It has peeling white walls and far too many moons carved on the roof. He knows this place, this temple, they passed it... when? Recently.

Of course, Noatak is gone.

Tarrlok sits down by the side of the road and feels absolutely nothing apart from the cold breeze off the water.

He could get up.

It might not be too late.

He could still try to find his brother.

_Trying isn't good enough_, says his father, who has the worst possible timing.

Tarrlok rubs some of the grit out of his eyes, and then mutters, "Fuck it." The expletive is unsatisfying and clumsy. He doesn't sound like himself.

He stays where he is, and refuses to cry.

(Eventually the woman in the healer's robes cautiously brings him some tea, so there's that.)

It's summer when the Avatar finally appears. She finds Tarrlok when he's replacing some of the temple's roof riles.

He doesn't realize she's there until she noisily clears her throat and shouts, "Uhh... HEY."

Tarrlok, to his credit, does _not_ fall off the roof, but turns around slowly and looks down at the temple courtyard. Korra looks much the same as she did when he last saw her; it hasn't been that long, after all. She gives him a very nervous smile.

Korra is the only person present. Apparently the temple's other occupants have made themselves scarce.

Tarrlok tries to think of something to say, then decides that his first priority is to get down from the roof. He can't think beyond that. He finds the ladder and climbs down, feeling clumsy and slow. Then he approaches Korra until they're just barely within conversation distance, and they both size each other up.

Korra being Korra, she immediately stares at his hand. "What happened to you?"

He's almost used to the question by now. Children are the worst for that. If Tarrlok liked kids, he'd have a few stock answers prepared: _I fought a rampaging firebender, I had a run-in with a dragon, I used to work in a firework factory, etc_. But he doesn't like kids, so he just tells them to mind their own business. He's tempted to tell Korra the same.

"Worse things happened at sea," he says, then cuts Korra off before she can say anything else. "You're here to arrest me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's quite understandable." Perhaps he should just be glad she didn't blast him off the roof and spring on him with a pair of cuffs. On the other hand (or what's left of it, hardy har, very funny), he isn't sure that he appreciates her awkward attempt at sympathy. "So, did you come here by yourself, or is there a strike team hiding behind a bush somewhere?"

Korra sticks out her chin. The nervous smile vanishes. "I came here by myself." Pause. "Well, alright, Lin is waiting by the gate, but only because she's head of the investigation. Relax."

Tarrlok refrains from telling her that when you order people to relax, they usually do the opposite. The courtyard contains a stone bench, so he sits down, in no great hurry to go anywhere.

Korra sits on the ground so she still has to look up at him. "I, um, would've come earlier if I'd known, but I didn't know you were here until a few days ago," she says. "I'm actually really glad you're alri-" She's about to say alright, but realizes it's the wrong word. "...Alive."

He smiles. "What gave me away?"

"I got an anonymous tip-off." Korra scratches her arm. "So, ah... Nice temple."

Poor girl. "Running away and turning to religion is a bit of a cliche, isn't it?" says Tarrlok, even though that's not quite what happened. (And, of course, he wonders who snitched on him.)

"I don't know," Korra murmurs, then sneaks another glance at him. "Your hair is shorter. And you grew a beard."

"I did. I'm not a very imaginative fugitive."

Korra makes a noncommittal 'hm' sound. "Do you like it here?"

"Excuse me?"

She gestures vaguely at the surrounding courtyard. "You know. Here."

"I suppose so," Tarrlok says. He's never really thought about it. People have been kind to him, but he still wishes that he didn't require kindness. "I'm not unwilling to leave, though."

"Okay. Good." Korra goes back to staring at his bad hand. She's trying so hard to be tactful that it's a wonder she doesn't sweat blood from the effort. "No rush."

Tarrlok imagines Lady Beifong waiting by the gate, scowling. He'll have to face her eventually. "I don't know; I don't see the point in delaying the inevitable. Although I can't say I look forward to airing my dirty laundry in front of everyone. Assuming they don't know most of it already."

"I only told Tenzin and a few others," Korra says, almost apologetically.

Tenzin. Of all people. Naturally. "Yes, I expected as much," Tarrlok says, then looks for a way to change the subject. He remembers something important. "You look well. You have your bending back, don't you?" He's been following her exploits in the news, but he wants to hear some things straight from the ostrich horse's mouth, so to speak. When it comes to the Avatar, he tends to wonder how much is truth, and how much is propaganda.

"Yeah," Korra says, now eyeing him. She has every reason to be cagey: the loss of her bending wasn't really made public. "But I'm not answering your questions unless you answer mine first."

"Fair enough."

"So, you gonna come back with us to the city, or...?"

It's funny how she makes it sound as if he has a choice. "Yes. However, I'd better say goodbye to the people here first. Is that alright?" They've been gracious hosts, patient despite his sullenness and secrecy. The least he can do is offer them an explanation for the Avatar's visit, and an apology. It'll be awkward, but he'd better get used to that. There's going to be a lot of awkwardness in his life from this point onwards. (At what point can he decide he's had enough? There are already too many days when he resents that Noatak saved them both.)

"Okay, I guess," Korra says, "I can wait out here, unless-"

She's incorrigible. "You should come with me," Tarrlok says. It's a wonder that Beifong let her confront him by herself.

"Okay." Yes, she can stand around and look uncomfortable while he apologizes to people. That's what she gets for being the Avatar.

Tarrlok gets up and dusts off his clothes, while Korra hops to her feet. Before they go inside, though, there's still a question that has to be asked. "By the way, any news of my brother?"

Korra lets out this huge sigh. She must have been waiting for Tarrlok to mention him the whole time. "I'm not meant to talk to you about him yet."

Something twists deep in Tarrlok's chest, catching him off-guard. "Is he...?" Tarrlok's mind always goes to dark places, and in some ways, it's been easier to assume that Noatak is dead.

Perhaps it shows in his expression, because Korra is too quick to take pity on him and answer when she shouldn't. "We - uh, they - they think he's somewhere in the southern Earth Kingdom."

"Oh," Tarrlok says. Just 'oh'. Is he relieved? He's not sure. He tells himself he _wants_ Noatak to live, and yet there's still an ugly part of him which insists that Noatak is a coward. (Perhaps he shouldn't be too horrified by that, though. He's resigned himself to ugliness.)

"But I guess you'll get to hear about Amon a whole lot when you're back in the city anyway," Korra murmurs, sounding older than her years for a moment.

Tarrlok finds it difficult to move his feet. He feels old, and tired, and capable of remaining in the same place forever, like a particularly sad statue.

He considers staying in the courtyard until Beifong runs out of patience and turns up to drag him away. Then he decides that he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"Right. Of course," he says, and begins walking towards the temple building. He tries not to think about what'll come next.

Korra offers one last attempt at a reassuring smile, and walks by his side.

Tarrlok still wonders where Noatak is, and envies him.


	2. Chapter 1: Summer ASC 171

_Summer, ASC 171_

It's a beautiful day - the sky is vast and blank, the sort of blue that hurts your eyes, and there isn't a breath of wind - and Tarrlok is under arrest.

Behind Tarrlok is the Avatar, just a few paces back. Behind the Avatar is the temple where Tarrlok been living for the past few months. Ahead is a dirt path and a shabby wooden gate, carved with animals and hunting figures beneath a crescent moon. Tarrlok did offer to repaint the gate just the other day, but... Well, now he has more pressing concerns.

Beyond the gate is a road where Beifong waits, presumably with a vehicle to take Tarrlok back to the city.

It's such nice weather, though.

"Good journey here?" Tarrlok asks Korra.

He's been aware of her eyes on the back of his neck the whole time, and he swears that he can feel her blink. "Huh? I guess," she says.

Tarrlok nods, and takes the time to study the carvings on the gate as they pass through it. He probably won't be seeing it again for quite a while.

-

The fact that Tarrlok is under arrest doesn't bother him so much. You break the law, you get arrested. That's the way the world is meant to work.

What bothers him is this:

Why is the Avatar arresting him by herself? How is Korra sure that he no longer poses a threat? Perhaps he should just ask, though it seems a bit gauche.

"Is it really just you and Beifong here?" he says.

"Yeah. Why?"

Tarrlok looks down at his feet. The road is very close now. The path is coming to an end. He wants to count the stones beneath his boots.

"What if I'd tried to fight you?" he asks.

"That'd be pretty stupid," Korra says.

"What if I'd managed to get my bending back after leaving Republic City?"

He imagines that Korra narrows her eyes. "Attacking me would still be pretty stupid."

"Well, people do stupid things all the time, I'm afraid."

There's a small pause. "I think you've done enough dumb stuff already," Korra says.

Tarrlok smiles to himself, and looks up.

-

The road is just a larger dirt track that cuts through rolling green fields. The only sound is the chirp of the crickets in the grass; it's the sort of noise that could get inside your head and drive you mad, if you let it.

Beifong is waiting by a Satomobile, arms crossed, leaning against one of the front wheels. She looks a little bored, although her demeanour is still watchful. It's _funny_, Tarrlok wants to tell her, _you'd expect the arrest of a bloodbender to be a bit more exiting than this_. Beifong opens the Satomobile's passenger door and gestures inside.

Tarrlok almost says 'thank you', but Beifong has never had much of a sense of humor. He ducks into the vehicle. She slams the door hard enough to make the frame shake.

Korra takes the back seat. Tarrlok resists watching her in the rear-view mirror, quite sure that she's already watching him.

–

Beifong drives through unfamiliar countryside. Every so often, they pass through a town – they all look the same after a while - and Tarrlok watches the buildings rush by. He doesn't think of anything in particular. The Satomobile becomes its own little world, airless and warm.

No one speaks, though there's the occasional creak of seat springs as Korra fidgets.

Tarrlok's curiosity eventually gets the better of him, and he turns around and to look back at the girl. She has what looks like a piece of clay in her hands.

She pokes and prods the clay into different shapes. It would appear that she's making a tiny sculpture of a frog. A frog that looks as if it's been kicked in the face a few times, but a frog nonetheless.

Korra must know he's staring, but doesn't glance up. "What?"

"How much further is it?" Tarrlok says.

"Not much. Why, you need a break or something?"

"I'm fine. Just..."

"Worried?"

"Tired."

"We're going to stop overnight at a house near Fort Pixiu," Korra says.

Wait. Where's Fort Pixiu? Has Tarrlok heard of it before? "Oh. _Now_ you tell me. I thought we were heading straight back to the City."

Korra now looks up and stares back at him. "Uh. Yeah. But the City is still another day's journey away."

They both peer at each other.

"You know where you are, right?" Korra asks.

"Well, I... Actually, no."

"How did you end up this far west?"

"I suppose I just followed Noatak. Amon. You know. Him."

Korra squints at him. "You never once looked at a map?"

"Why would I? I had no intention of going anywhere."

Korra stares for a moment, then shrugs as if to say 'fair enough'. She asks, "What have you been doing for the last four months?"

"Not very much."

"Huh," says Korra.

"Pardon my asking, but why are you making a frog?" Tarrlok asks, just to steer the conversation away from himself.

Korra holds up the tiny sculpture. "If you get the trick right, you can make it hop. Want to see?"

"Not particularly," Tarrlok says. How old is she meant to be?

"Suit yourself," Korra mutters.

Beifong just keeps her eyes on the road.

–

The roads get rougher until, around sunset, they head down a path that cuts through a forest, eventually reaching a small clearing. A siheyuan is huddled in the center of it. The building isn't too different from the temple Tarrlok recently left.

This must be the place near Fort Pixiu. Tarrlok racks his brain trying to recall some information about the area, but draws a blank. Fort Pixiu might just be one of those grubby little garrisons that the United Forces keep out in the middle of nowhere for training purposes. Or it might be something else. Tarrlok could wonder about it, but it's probably for the best if he doesn't indulge his paranoia.

Beifong parks the Satomobile by the siheyuan's gate, then points Tarrlok towards the main house. Her silence isn't particularly reassuring.

He continues onwards, with Beifong and Korra at his back, and does his best to ignore the familiar headache that's currently trying to burrow its way through his right eyebrow.

The siheyuan is clean and well-maintained, tastefully modest. The interior courtyard contains a patch of grass and two peach trees. The trees both look like the ideal of what a peach tree should be: their trunks slope artfully, and their branches have an elegant, sculpted quality. They're like oversized bonsai.

Tarrlok pauses before main house's open doorway. Korra nearly walks into his back. She mutters something that he doesn't quite catch.

Tarrlok can't see anything inside the house except a well-lit foyer with yellow walls. He steps into it. It turns out that, just to the side of the doorway, the foyer contains a few chairs, a wall hanging of a mountainside, and a a rickety little table. Sitting by the table is Grand Lotus Katara.

Ah. Wonderful.

The old woman is perched on a stool with her cane on her lap. She raises her eyebrows a little when Tarrlok comes into view.

Tarrlok has encountered Katara a few times before, albeit briefly. The last time they met was almost a year ago, at the grand opening of a hospital; there was a lot of smiling and bowing involved. Now, he hesitates in the doorway, unsure if he's still capable of being polite.

Katara. Of all people.

"Oh, there you are," Katara says. "Does anyone want tea?"

Before Tarrlok can say something stupid, Beifong answers for the three of them. "We're good."

Katara graciously smiles at them all. "Please sit down."

Tarrlok automatically does so. He picks a chair opposite Katara and does his best to sit bolt upright. Then he waits for an explanation as to why he's here. Lin remains standing, looming over his right shoulder.

Katara looks right at him. "You're sure you don't want tea? Is there anything else you'd like? Are you hungry?"

"I'm fine," Tarrlok replies, forcing himself to add, "Thank you."

"You're sure? I made some muqpauraq."

"Quite sure. Thank you."

"Well, you've had a long journey. Would you like a chance to rest? "

"No. Thank you," Tarrlok says, already starting to sound strained. Korra, meanwhile, sidles off to lean against a wall and pick at her fingernails. She could've warned him about the Grand Lotus, but no.

Katara keeps smiling, and keeps her attention on him. "Very well. So, I take it that you're sufficiently sound of mind to explain why you attacked the Avatar, tried to kidnap her - and she's a teenage girl, I might add, although I'm quite sure _that_ didn't escape your notice - and then violently assaulted a group of people that included the entire Republic City Council and two senior police officers?"

A straightforward appeal to his guilt. Not a bad opening, all things considered.

Tarrlok's headache kicks up a notch. He becomes very aware of Lin's presence beside him.

Katara still watches him with glacial patience, leaving many things unsaid.

"I don't know how to answer you," Tarrlok says.

"Try."

"Anything I say will sound like an excuse."

"Say it anyway," Katara replies.

"I can't give a rational explanation because I'm not - wasn't - a rational person." Rational people do not sabotage their career by starting fights with teenagers. Of course, he's not very keen on using the insanity defense - if he has to choose between prison and the loony bin, he'd prefer the former, because prison means a nice fixed sentence and the prospect of being perceived as 'evil' rather than 'incompetent' - but it's not up to him anymore, is it?

Katara studies him as if he's something she's just scraped off her shoe. "Do you consider yourself to be a danger to others?"

Even after all that's happened, Tarrlok still wants to say, _no, absolutely not, that's absurd, I'm the elected representative of the Northern Water Tribe, what do you take me for_? But instead, he replies, "The record doesn't look too good, does it?"

"What happened to your hand?" Katara asks, without looking away from his face.

Tarrlok doesn't over-think his reply. "Incident involving a shock glove and a fuel tank."

Beifong shifts her weight from one foot to the other, nothing more. Korra stares quite shamelessly, as if Tarrlok is a very interesting traffic accident.

"And how did this incident occur?" Katara says.

Does he really have to talk about this right now? He'd rather discuss the attempted kidnapping. Besides, he's not sure if he's capable of giving the whole story anyway.

"Noatak thought he could make a run for it and start over. I disagreed," he answers. He doesn't care if he sounds glib. There are worse things to be than glib.

"I need more information than that," Katara says.

"I'd give you the sordid details if I could remember them." Tarrlok manages to hold Katara's gaze, although it's not _him_ that's doing it, just his body, while his real self sits at the back of his mind and waits for all of this to pass. "I don't remember much after leaving Air Temple Island."

That's a half-truth, and Katara gives no indication of accepting it. "And how did you end up at a temple a hundred miles west of the city?"

"Noatak left me there. I didn't have a lot of say in the matter."

Katara lets out a little sigh of exasperation. "You're not helping your case by being evasive."

"I wasn't aware that I had a case. It's a minimum sentence of eight years just for bloodbending, correct? And that's without taking other charges into account."

"Describe what happened after Korra left you in the cell on Air Temple Island," Katara says, as if she hasn't heard him.

_No, _Tarrlok wants to say, _I can't be bothered_. The foyer is too small and cramped with four people in it, and the smell of the peach trees in blossom is nauseatingly sickly. Still, he has to tell the truth, because anything else would feel like another defeat.

He replies, "I'll tell you what I can. There were several boats moored at the dock on the north side of the island. I assume the Equalists had left them there. Anyway, we – well, Noatak – took one of those. I don't know how long we travelled for, and I can't remember what we said to each other, if anything. At some point, while his back was turned, I must've taken a shock glove and ignited the boat's fuel tank." There. That wasn't so difficult after all. He even managed to say all of that without crying or throwing up! Well done, Tarrlok, you're not a complete waste of skin!

"You intended to kill him?" Katara asks.

"What do you think?"

Katara repeats herself, slowly: "You intended to kill him?"

Tarrlok just shrugs. Strangely, he has to suppress a smile. "You haven't caught him yet, have you? People can't be very happy about that."

Behind him, Korra shifts her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms.

"How far out to sea were you when it happened?" Katara asks.

Ah. Now. See. If Tarrlok hadn't been raised to have such good manners, _this _would be the point where he'd tell Katara to fuck off.

"I don't know. Far enough that I couldn't see land," he says. "Look, what do you want from me?"

"I think you might be able to provide some insight into things. However, I need complete honesty from you. You're already on thin ice as it is."

"Insight into what kind of things?" Tarrlok asks. He casts a sidelong glance at Beifong; she's watching him carefully.

Katara ignores his question again. "So, how did you survive?"

"I'm not sure. The next thing I can remember is walking by a river." Another half-truth. He remembers more, but most of it is irrelevant and (especially) unhelpful: the smell of burned skin and spilled fuel, the onshore breeze, Noatak's voice as he tried to apologize. "Then we ended up at some village, and walked from there to a place called... Well, I can't remember the name, but we stayed there overnight, and then we kept walking west. We were some way past the temple when Noatak decided that he'd rather be alone, and he left me there."

"Why didn't you inform the authorities of his presence in the area?" says Katara.

What a good question.

"Because they're generally useless," Tarrlok answers, although that still sounds like a cop out.

Katara actually blinks at him, just once, very slowly. "So you chose to hide from the police, and let a wanted criminal walk free."

Tarrlok just stares at her. He almost expects himself to stand up, kick his chair back, and start shouting at her, all flying spittle and righteous indignation. Very dramatic, and completely ridiculous. But instead, he finds himself frozen in place.

"I tried to stop him," he says. It's so good how he almost makes it sound noble.

He wants Katara to say something that'll push him over the edge and give him an excuse to start screaming at her, but she just sits back and studies him.

"That's all I need to know for the time being," Katara says. "Thank you. Korra, can you escort Tarrlok to his quarters, please?"

And now she's dismissing him. How anticlimactic.

Korra takes a step forward, looking a little uncomfortable. As she should.

"So, uh," Korra says, and walks out to the courtyard again.

Tarrlok follows after her.

Beifong makes a 'hmph' noise while he's still in earshot.

-

Korra leads him to the west building, which contains a bedroom. There's a bed and chamber pot, a desk, a bookcase, and another wall hanging with some incomprehensible Air Nomad poetry on it.

Tarrlok takes a few steps inside, while Korra remains in the doorway, blocking it.

"If you'd told me the Grand Lotus would be here, I would've worn a clean shirt," Tarrlok tells her. He knows he's sulking, but he doesn't care.

"Sorry," Korra says, without sounding too apologetic. Was she ordered to keep quiet about Katara's involvement in order to catch him off-guard? If so, it worked.

Tarrlok wanders over to the wall scroll and studies the calligraphy. The poem is the usual nonsense about flowers and seasons, and the characters look a bit florid for Tarrlok's taste. "Why is Katara so interested in me, anyway?" he asks, although he can guess the answer.

"Bloodbenders are kinda her thing," Korra replies, then pauses as if she regrets phrasing it that way. "...I guess."

"I'm surprised she didn't tell you how to defend yourself against them," Tarrlok says, while still inspecting the wall hanging. "It's not as if the Avatar hasn't been attacked by a bloodbender before."

Korra pauses. Perhaps she's giving him a sideways look. As if she hasn't heard his comment, she asks, "Did you really try to kill Amon?"

The girl has clearly spent too much time around her Sifu.

Tarrlok keeps his back straight and his voice neutral. "Yes. You'd like to hear the gory details too, then?"

"People are going to ask questions. Standard, uh, procedure."

"I know," Tarrlok replies, then makes a weak attempt at explaining himself: "I'm just..." What? 'I'm already fed up, and things are only going to go downhill from here'? Yes, go on, Tarrlok, wallow in self-pity. You'd probably enjoy it. "It's not a topic I'm looking forward to discussing. Sorry."

He can't pretend to study the wall hanging forever, so he goes to sit down on the bed. Still in need of a convenient distraction, he examines the nails on his good hand. They are, quite frankly, disgusting.

Korra takes a slight step forward.

Tarrlok keeps inspecting his nails, and waits for her to speak.

Out the edge of his vision, he sees Korra tug at her arm band, then looks back at the doorway, then back to him again. Finally, and with what might be a great amount of effort, she says, "I'm really sorry I didn't stop him."

Tarrlok's first thought is to dismiss the apology. Withholding forgiveness is the only power he has left. But he's aware that he's acting like a petulant teenager, and it's a small wonder that Korra is willing to talk to him at all.

"What?" Korra asks peevishly, and Tarrlok realizes that he's now staring at her.

"It's nothing," he says. "I mean, it's alright. Thank you. None of this is your fault, though."

Korra resumes tugging at her arm band, and glances down at her boots. "So, uh, I'm going to go talk to Katara..."

"Well, I won't complain if my ears burn-"

Korra scowls a little. "I'll be back in a bit. You can leave this room but you can't go past the outer courtyard."

"I understand." Tarrlok could ask what might happen if he ventured out of bounds, but the question would give the impression that he actually _wants_ to escape. "I won't be going anywhere."

"Okay. Fine. Later." Korra takes a deep breath, then steps out, closing the door behind her.

_Silly girl_, Tarrlok tells himself, though his heart isn't in it.

He busies himself with making a survey of the room.

The bookcase draws his attention, so he gets up to skim over it. Most of the books seem to relate to naval warfare in some way, though there are a few dusty scrolls on mathematics. Not very interesting.

He chooses a transcription of Northern military history, though the content of the book doesn't particularly matter. It's unlikely that he'll remember any of it anyway. The book is just a place where he can put his mind.

It's going to be a long night.

-

The next day, after he manages to drag himself out of bed, he ventures out into the courtyard and explores. He expects Beifong to be waiting for him somewhere, but she's nowhere in sight. He remains on guard.

He finds a kitchen in the southernmost building; it contains a water pump, so he washes his face to wake himself up. (Though he did manage to get some sleep. He's not sure what that says about him.) The water still feels very strange - it's lighter, less real, less tangible - but he goes through his usual mantra of ''I'll get used to it eventually'.

While he dries his face on his sleeve, he hears the tap-tap-tap of Katara's cane crossing the flagstones. She steps into the kitchen; she's just a blue shape at the edge of his vision.

_As you can see_, he wants to tell her, _I didn't try to run away during the night. Bully for me_.

Katara goes to a cupboard. From the sound of it, she's taking out some bowls. "I'm having mackerel pike for lunch, so-"

Tarrlok cuts her off. "Why do I have your special attention?"

There's another pause. Katara puts the bowls in a stack. "I'm sorry we never found your father," she says.

Now Tarrlok has heard two apologies in as many days. It's a little disconcerting, and probably manipulative on Katara's part. "What? Oh. That's not really an issue. He's been dead for over twenty years."

Katara turns to face him. Tarrlok gets the nasty feeling that she's studying him again, so he stands up and leans against the water pump, trying to look nonchalant, and adds, "And, of course, if you'd found him before he'd met my mother, I wouldn't even be alive to sulk about everything. I've always wondered, though: how much effort _did_ you put into the search? Did you see him as a low priority because he'd lost his bending and therefore didn't pose so much of a threat?"

And now he's babbling. This is going well.

Katara leaves the bowls on a table and takes a seat on a nearby stool. "We put a lot of time and resources into finding him. However, mistakes were made. Did you ever read the case files?"

"I did." It was risky and stupid thing to do, but inevitable. "I've never put much stock in reports, though. They're only as honest as the person who wrote them."

"Well, then, there's no point quibbling over the details," Katara says. "No matter what was done, your father still escaped, and we failed to catch him."

"So you're now being nice to me out of guilt?" Tarrlok says, and realizes that he's smiling again. "Or... what? What do you want from me?"

Katara looks thoughtful. "Guilt is a factor. I owed you that apology. But my personal feelings are irrelevant. My main concern is finding your brother."

Tarrlok expected as much. "I'll help you if I can, but I have to say that I'd feel much more at ease if this conversation was taking place in a police station. What you're doing right now could be construed as an abuse of authority and, legally, I'm not obligated to tell you anything." He's aware that he sounds like a complete ass, but he's never been very comfortable with the White Lotus's habit of meddling in things.

"That's true." Katara regards him patiently. She seems much less prickly than yesterday. "Korra doesn't want you in prison, though, and I can see where she's coming from. She's the one who insisted that I talk to you. She's also refusing to press charges for the kidnapping incident."

"She... what?"

"Oh, she's partly motivated by political expedience," Katara adds. "She doesn't want it on record that you beat her in a fight and took her as hostage. She thinks it reflects badly on her. Not good for PR. Of course, you wouldn't believe the number of times Aang was captured or kidnapped - you could say that it's an occupational hazard - but the girl won't hear it."

Tarrlok mulls over this information. He doesn't find it reassuring. The prospect of prison always had a nice finality.

Katara continues, "However, there's still the fact that you bloodbent people while resisting arrest. Korra has... made efforts to discourage people from pressing charges, but she doesn't get the final say in the matter. You're quite a point of contention."

"I, ah..." Tarrlok falters. "I always intended to plead guilty anyway."

"Then why didn't you go straight to the police after Noatak left you?" Katara asks, and Tarrlok wants to wince.

"I intended to. Eventually. I just wanted a bit of a reprieve. Put it down to cowardice." Not a good answer.

Katara just nods, and sits back slightly. "So, are you willing to answer some of my questions about Noatak, or would you prefer to only deal with Chief Beifong?"

Well, silly as it sounds, Tarrlok still finds Katara relatively more tolerable. He might not trust the White Lotus, but it's not like he has much to lose.

Still, he can't resist asking, "Korra said that Beifong was in charge of the investigation. Does the Chief mind that you've effectively commandeered one of her key witnesses?"

Katara smiles. _Don't be a cheeky little shit,_ her eyes tell him. "We're all working together for the common good, Tarrlok."

"Very well," Tarrlok says. "I'll answer your questions. But first you'll have to tell me what you'll do with Noatak when you find him."

"If he's taken alive, he'll go to trial like anyone else."

"Korra will take his bending, won't she?"

"If that's the most practical option, yes."

"I think he'd rather choose death over imprisonment, to be honest."

Katara raises her eyebrows. "Did he tell you this?"

"In so many words."

"What did you two discuss while you were together?"

"I remember telling him that he was being an idiot, or something along those lines. Unsurprisingly, he had no interest in giving himself up to the police." Tarrlok studies a crack in the flagstones by his left foot. "I'm not sure what I expected. He has nothing to gain by surrendering."

"_You_ surrendered."

"I had less to lose. Fewer illusions," Tarrlok says. "Anyway, he made it quite clear that he'd rather die than return to Republic City."

Katara sneaks a quick glance at Tarrlok's bad hand. "_When _did he tell you that he'd rather die?"

"Some time after we reached the coast."

"Oh." Katara now frowns. "Let's go back a step. What did you two discuss _before _you tried to destroy the boat?"

Tarrlok has to pause and think about that. "Very little."

Katara takes a deep breath, and asks, "So what made you decide to kill him?"

She has to ask. He'd ask the same, if he was in her position. Even so, Tarrlok still considers ending the conversation and leaving the room.

Tarrlok opens his mouth to speak and lets the words sort themselves out:

"Alright. After I realized who he was, there was a short period where I thought, 'This is it. You've got him back. Everything else is mess, but at least he's alive.' His mannerisms are different, but he's aged well - he looks very similar to how I remember him, you know? Same eyes. He asked me to follow him, and I did. Anyway, while we were heading towards the docks, I stopped and looked back at the city, at the smoke from the buildings - and Noatak just kept walking. He didn't look back. Not once. And it would've been very easy for me to do the same: keep walking, forget everyone else, move on. I understood that I was capable of doing that. I understood that I was capable of lots of things, and so was he. And, I don't know, I suppose that was it."

Then he pauses, and adds, "However, it turns out that it's very difficult to kill a waterbender while they're surrounded by, well, _water_. Who would have guessed?"

Katara sighs and gives him a 'what are we going to do with you?' sort of look. "And it was after you reached land that he told you he'd rather die than surrender to the police?"

"Yes. I suppose." Now she's making him doubt his own memories. Tarrlok wants to hate her for it, but his confusion is his own fault.

"What did you say to him?" Katara asks.

Might as well be honest. "I told him that if he surrendered without a fight, he could use his knowledge as a bargaining chip. I know it was a weak argument, but it was the best I could come up with. And locking him up and throwing away the key would be a waste, wouldn't it?"

Katara hesitates for just a second too long. "What did he say to that?"

"Nothing. Just that he wanted to keep a low profile and live a quiet life."

"Did he give any indication as to where he was going?"

"Not really. He did say that he was heading back north, but then he seemed to change his mind about it. He didn't appear to have much in the way of contingency plans. I suppose he was in shock."

"Any injuries?"

"Some burns across his back. He, ah, he didn't look very healthy before he left me, so..." Tarrlok's mind wanders. He'd meant to kill Noatak cleanly. He thinks of all the botched kills he used to make during hunting trips, and how the animals would twitch and squeal before Noatak would snap their necks for him. "I don't suppose you could tell me how close you are to catching him, could you?"

Katara frowns a little at the question, but replies, "Well, it's a little tricky. A reliable witness reported a sighting of him in the Fei Cui Province, and then he disappeared. The Republic City police and the United Forces are currently working in conjunction with the local authorities to track him down, but... Things aren't progressing as quickly as I'd like."

Tarrlok is somewhat familiar with the Fei Cui Province. Most of the Triads imported various illegal substances from there.

"What are the odds that Noatak is dead?" he asks, without really feeling anything. Noatak did make a lot of enemies.

"I can't say," Katara answers, and sounds genuinely apologetic.

"If he's alive, then I have no idea where he is. I don't know how much help I can be."

"Could you write down a report on what happened after you were caught by the Equalists?" Katara asks. "You know how these investigations go: sometimes we appreciate all the information we can get, regardless of whether it seems relevant or not."

_You're desperate, then, _Tarrlok thinks. He makes an effort to keep a neutral expression. Mulling over everything and writing it down on paper might be even less pleasant than actually talking about it. "If you want. Sure."

He evidently doesn't do a very good job of hiding his thoughts, because Katara gives him a long look, and says, "I realize that none of this is easy for you. In many ways, I'm making things worse, aren't I?"

"You don't owe me anything," Tarrlok says.

Katara leans back a bit and screws up her nose as if she doesn't agree with that. "I owe you basic human courtesy."

That's nice, but Tarrlok isn't quite willing to accept her whole 'benevolent matriarch' act just yet. "Even though I attacked the Avatar and bloodbent your son?"

"Even though you attacked the Avatar, bloodbent my son_ and_ Lin _and_ several others, had innocent people arrested, used a terrorist threat as an opportunity to launch a vanity project, bribed and blackmailed a number of influential figures into becoming your personal Yes Men, _and _spent your entire term pushing policies I strongly disagreed with."

"I take it you voted for the other guy," Tarrlok mutters.

"Regardless, I'm in no great hurry to see you put behind bars," Katara says. "People never seem to improve much while in prison."

"You don't think I'm dangerous?"

"Not to me."

Tarrlok wasn't aware that he had any pride left, but he still bristles a little at her comment. Katara might look like someone's wrinkly little grandmother - she's so small that he could probably pick her up and throw her (if he was feeling suicidal enough to try) - but she seems like the sort of person who wields power easily. There's an effortlessness to her authority, and he imagines that she was born with this aptitude.

A while ago, he might've liked to flatter himself by believing that he and Katara had common ground.

Yet despite his envy, he still finds himself unable to dislike the woman.

"So now you're stuck with keeping an eye on me to make sure I don't do anything stupid," he replies.

"I'm afraid so." Katara gets up from her stool. "You can make up for it by fetching some pickled radishes from the top shelf over there. I'll need you to open the jar."

Ha. Fine. Tarrlok rubs some sleep out his eyes, then stands. The jar of radishes is in easy reach; he opens the jat by tucking it in the crook of his elbow. Behind him, Katara potters around, taking more things from cupboards. Perhaps it's the acoustics of the bare walls, but everything she does seems a little too loud.

"Do you need a hand with carrying things?" he asks. (Wait. 'Need a hand?' Did he really just say that? That's not funny.)

"If you don't mind," Katara replies.

Tarrlok goes to find a tray, and gets that unpleasant urge to laugh again. When you've discussed attempted fratricide before breakfast, who knows where your day will go from there?


	3. Chapter 2: Summer ASC 171

Lunch isn't as awkward as it could be. Beifong remains (mercifully) absent, while Korra only turns up to grab a chunk of bread and skulk off again. Tarrlok and Katara sit in the courtyard and eat in silence.

Afterwards, Tarrlok returns to the guest room. He hunts through desk drawers until he finds a writing kit. He spends a while grinding the ink to the perfect consistency.

Then he inks the brush and confronts the blank piece of paper.

When he tries to begin the report by writing down the date and time, time, the ink has already dried out.

He cleans the ink stone with the hem of his shirt, not wanting to go back outside to get a cloth, and repeats the process of grinding the ink.

Just as he touches the brush to the paper again, someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," he says, because telling them to fuck off just isn't an option.

Korra opens the door by a crack, and peers into the room. "Um, hi. Am I interrupting?"

Yes. "No, of course not," Tarrlok replies.

Korra ventures a few steps inside, then proceeds to gawk at the Air Nomad scroll on the wall... Which, in all fairness, is much prettier than Tarrlok right now.

"So. Did you sleep well?" Korra asks, attention still on the scroll.

"I slept just fine, thank you. Can I help you with something?"

"No. I just, uh- what are you doing?"

"Katara asked for a written account of what happened after I-... Well, after I ended up on Air Temple Island."

Korra stops pretending to read the stupid scroll, and takes a good look at Tarrlok. He wonders what she's thinking. Probably 'do I want to be alone in a room with this man?' (no) or 'how did this asshole get appointed as head of the council?' (blackmail, partly) or 'why the does he have an ink stain on his shirt?' (it was already a bad shirt). She then moves closer so she can peer over his shoulder, eyeing the blank paper on the desk.

After a long pause, she offers, "I could write things down for you."

"That's very... helpful, but I can write just fine," Tarrlok says, although there's no reason why Korra shouldn't write things for him. He won't have any secrets from her. She'll probably read the report after it's complete anyway. And perhaps dictation will speed up the writing process.

"Okay," Korra says, flatly.

"Though, actually, I think I'll take you up on your offer," Tarrlok adds. He stands up so Korra can have his chair.

Korra squints at him. She sits down and picks up the writing brush.

"You can start by writing down 'nineteenth day of the eleventh month'," Tarrlok begins, then realizes that he's starting with the day that he kidnapped her. "Wait. No. 'twentieth day of the eleventh month, tenth hour'."

Korra ponderously drags the brush over the paper, then looks up.

Tarrlok tries to think of what comes next.

"Tarrlok?" Korra prompts.

"I'm thinking."

Korra watches him. She chews the end of the brush handle. It was a very nice brush, too. It looked like one of the more expensive ones.

Tarrlok checks what she's written so far. Twentieth day of the eleventh month, tenth hour. Yes, that's certainly a sentence. That's a good start. The paper looks a little less blank now. Which is good.

...Though Korra's brush strokes are rather sloppy. Wasn't she raised by the White Lotus? The Avatar is meant to be an effective communicator. Couldn't the White Lotus at least teach proper penmanship?"

"Your writing is worse than mine, and I used to be right-handed," Tarrlok mutters, then pauses because oh for the love of Yue's left tit why did he just say that out loud? What's wrong with him? (And has something always been wrong with him, or can he blame it on Noatak somehow?)

"I'm trying to help you out here," Korra snaps, slamming the brush against the desk.

"I know. Sorry."

Korra keeps watching him, now with narrowed eyes.

Tarrlok gets a strange urge to take a small step backwards.

Korra clears her throat. "So, are you going to tell me what else to write, or are you just going to stand there and look at me like you think I'm stupid?"

"I don't think you're stupid," Tarrlok says, automatically.

"Yeah, you do. When you were a councilman you used to act like you thought _everybody_ was stupid."

That's not true, but it's also not worth fighting over. "Well, I'm no longer a councilman," Tarrlok says (without wincing), "and I don't think you're stupid." ('Spoiled' would be a more charitable description.)

Korra's expression remains sour, but she picks up the writing brush again, and looks back at the paper. "Fine, whatever. Now what?"

"I'm thinking," Tarrlok repeats.

Korra blows a few strands of hair out of her face. "You don't really want to do this, do you?"

"What?"

"The whole 'writing an account about Air Temple Island' thing."

"Actually, I do. I'm just... not very articulate lately."

"Yeah, maybe that's normal, might be a side-effect of, uh-" Korra taps her forehead with her index finger.

That'd be a convenient explanation. "Maybe."

"I felt pretty weird after I lost my bending that time," Korra adds.

"Oh."

"I couldn't think properly, and... I don't know. It was bad."

How is Tarrlok meant to reply to that? Should he make sympathetic noises? Should he apologize on Noatak's behalf? "But you're alright now, aren't you?" he asks.

"Yeah. I feel much better."

"Good," Tarrlok says, and hopes it doesn't sound a little flat.

Korra studies him for another moment (and he can already tell that this is another another thing he'll grow tired of: tired of being looked at, tired being assessed, tired of people trying to understand, and oh wonderful here comes another bout of self-pity), and then she says, "Do you want your bending back?"

Tarrlok's mouth skips ahead of his brain, and he hears himself say, "Why are you asking me that?"

"I dunno. Just wondering."

"No, I don't want it back. Why do you need to know? Is this some kind of test?"

Korra leans away from him. "What? No. Now you're being weird."

"Then why did you ask?" Tarrlok says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Old habits die hard, and there's still a part of him that wants to move closer to the girl and invade her personal space. She's sitting, he's standing; it'd be easy to put an arm on the desk and loom over her. Korra looks deceptively small, sometimes.

He tells himself that he's stupid, but he's not that stupid.

"I just, I mean, I thought-..." Korra begins, then holds up her hands. "Never mind, I get it, you don't want it back. Forget I said anything."

Tarrlok takes a deep breath and counts to five. "Isn't there a waiting list for that sort of thing, anyway?"

"Not really." Korra keeps her back straight, remaining on guard. "I've fixed most of people who Amon messed up."

"Most of them?"

"Most of the ones we know about, anyhow. I mean, I've fixed all the ones who've asked. I guess there might still be a few guys out there who don't want to talk to me because they're worried I might arrest them, maybe, but there can't be that many left."

"So you're helping anyone who comes to you?"

"I guess."

"You don't have a, ah, vetting process of sorts?"

Korra shrugs, now making an effort to hide any residual unease. "No."

"Why not?"

Korra gives him that 'now you're being weird' look again. "You can't, uh, vet people so you can decide if they should have something that was always theirs in the first place."

"What about criminals?"

Korra gives another shrug, although it's more of an irritable twitch this time. "I'd give them their bending back and then arrest them."

"Wouldn't it be easier to do it the other way around?"

"It hasn't really been an issue yet," Korra mutters. "Because they're avoiding me. Like I said."

"It's the principle of it, though. Does the general public condone the idea of you helping criminals?"

"Yeah, uh, no, not really, but it's my decision." Korra gives a little huff like she's quickly becoming bored with this conversation. "The way I understand it is, you only take someone's bending away if you've not got any other option... I mean, no other option beside, uh, killing them, anyway. It's a, what's it, a you know, a compromise, and people that dangerous are pretty rare, like-"

"Like bloodbenders."

"Maybe. But, like... I was the first human you'd ever bloodbent, right? And you hated doing it?"

"Yes. But you only have my word on that."

"What, you're saying I shouldn't believe you?"

"I think you're just a little too trusting, that's all."

"I am _not_," Korra grumbles. "You were honest with me about Amon, so..."

"Again, it's a matter of principle. I attacked you. If someone attacks you, then you should always treat that person as a potential threat."

Korra props her elbow on the desk and rests her chin on her palm. She stares at him in frustration, as if she's not sure whether she's currently engaged in an argument or not... And if she is engaged in an argument, then she doesn't know what it's about, or who's meant to be winning. Eventually, she says, "Well, I attacked you back. Will you always see me as a potential threat?"

Tarrlok draws a very deep breath before answering. "Yes."

"Do you hate me?" Korra asks, brow still furrowed.

"No."

Korra jabs her index finger at him. "So... Let me get this right: you like me, but you're scared of me?"

Why does she have to phrase it like that? "I think you're a promising young woman who could grow up to be someone strong, fair, and charismatic and I'm not about to forget that you came alarmingly close to setting me on fire."

"Yeah. That happened," Korra mutters. She's quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "...For what it's worth, I promise I won't try to set you on fire again."

"Good."

"Unless you act like a dick."

"Duly noted."

"So you'll be less of a dick in future, right?"

"I'll try."

"If you act like a dick, I'll tell you."

"Uh, before or after you try to set me on fire?"

"Before. Obviously."

"Very well."

Korra sticks out her chin and slowly nods. "Now are we going to write this report about Air Temple Island together or not?"

Tarrlok tries to think of an answer to that. His mind feels like it's a broken radio. If he listens hard enough, maybe he can hear the hiss of static, sibilant as waves against shore.

"You can say 'no'," Korra says, in a tone that suggests she's pretty close to throwing the writing brush at him. Future generations will remember Avatar Korra for many things, but she won't be remembered for her patience.

"Perhaps you'd better let me write it by myself," Tarrlok replies. "I just need to get my head straightened out."

"You could try meditating," Korra offers.

Tarrlok manages to ask "Do you think that'd help?" without grimacing.

"...Probably not," Korra admits. "But I wondering what Katara or Tenzin would tell me if I was in your situation, and they'd say, 'try meditating', so..." She stands up from the chair, and glances down at the floor. She looks worryingly young for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just feel like I should be doing more to help, or something."

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," Tarrlok says.

Korra gives him another one of those annoyingly speculative looks, then says, "Sheesh, I don't know. This entire situation sucks. Do you want a hug?"

Tarrlok takes a moment to make sure he's heard her correctly. "Excuse me, what? No. Don't offer hugs to strange men."

"Uh, I think I can hug who I like, thanks," Korra says, and somehow manages to make it sound like a threat.

Tarrlok almost tells her to have some propriety, then checks himself. "If you say so. But I'm alright."

"You don't look alright."

"I-"

"Seriously, you look like crap."

"Thank you, Avatar Korra, your opinion on my appearance has been noted," Tarrlok says. "I will be alright after I've finished this report. Which I was trying to write. Until you stopped by. Thank you."

"Fine, I'm going," Korra says, and marches out the room.

Tarrlok retakes his seat at the desk so he can resume staring at the blank paper.

He picks up the writing brush, studies the teeth marks in the handle, and tsks.

* * *

><p>When Katara is required to be patient, she sews.<p>

She's not sure why. No one needs her to repair their clothes; no one's going to ask her to make a pair of kamiks for them. The only nice thing she can say about sewing is that it reminds her of winter nights long past, spent indoors with her grandmother, snug in the warmth of an oil lamp. Her hands move of their own accord, in spite of the pain in her knuckles. There's something hypnotic about the rise and fall of the needle, the push-pull.

And she's better at sewing than she is at gardening, oddly enough. Gardening would be her other method for killing time, but plants only appreciate so much interference, and Katara has never known when to leave things well alone. (Sometimes she sheepishly looks at the two perfect peach trees in the courtyard, and she wants to apologize to them.)

Today, she leaves the garden in peace, and sits on the lawn of the courtyard while she makes socks for her youngest grandson. You can never have too many socks. Hers is a family that spends a lot of time on its feet.

Around mid-day, just as she's using her remaining teeth to break a piece of thread, she senses Tarrlok's approach. His heartbeat reminds her of a rabbit's.

Katara's gut instinct tells her to stand up and face him.

Just for once, she ignores her gut instinct.

She ties off the thread.

Tarrlok hesitates when he's several paces away from her. Then he moves closer until he's just at the edge of her vision, says something that she doesn't quite catch - probably 'ma'am?' - and offers a rolled up piece of paper, holding it at arm's length.

"Ah, thank you," Katara says, looking up. She takes the paper - presumably the report she asked for earlier - and tucks it into her sewing kit. She'd like to smile at Tarrlok as if to tell him that things will be alright, but she knows he wouldn't believe it for a moment. "Sit with me."

Tarrlok casts a wary glance around the courtyard before kneeling on the grass. He keeps his back straight and rests his hands on his knees, and affects the same blank expression that he had when Lin brought him here yesterday.

Katara eyes the ink stain on his shirt. "You know, if you ever need to borrow anything that you find in this house - within reason, of course - just go ahead and take it."

Tarrlok follows her line of sight to the stain. "That's very generous. Thank you."

"Did you come all this way without bothering to bring any spare clothes?"

"It... seems that way," Tarrlok says, blinking at her.

"That wasn't very sensible."

Tarrlok offers a brief, thin smile. "Sorry."

"Have you left any belongings back at the temple where you were staying?"

"No."

"Ah," Katara sighs. "I've been meaning to ask if you would've had any items that belonged to Noatak, but-"

Tarrlok shakes his head, offers another, "Sorry," then adds, "I assume you're asking because you intend to send a shirshu tracker after him?"

"Correct."

"Hmm." Tarrlok looks up at the sky and scratches his chin. "Why didn't you send one after me?" There's no judgment in his tone, just tired curiosity.

"We did. It didn't work," Katara tells him. "Apparently you smell different now."

Tarrlok stops scratching his chin, eyes widening by a fraction.

"And I'm not implying that you need a bath," Katara adds.

Tarrlok relaxes a little.

"Anyway, yes, you were surprisingly tricky to locate," Katara says. "Though perhaps that's a good thing. I'm just glad we got to you before the Equalists did." It'd be so easy to hurt Tarrlok to get to Amon. It'd be so easy to use Tarrlok as bait. She won't pretend that she hasn't considered it.

"Are they still that much of a problem?" Tarrlok frowns. Katara can imagine him piecing his knowledge of the world back together, handling the shards carefully. "I don't really recall hearing anyone talk about them much while I was at the temple."

Katara puffs out her cheeks and lets out a deep breath. "I think that, by this point, the only Equalists left are the really tenacious ones."

Tarrlok falls silent. Katara studies his worry lines, and compares his face to the photographs she's seen of him. Tarrlok then says, very slowly, "When was Noatak last seen, by the way?"

"About a month ago."

"What was he doing?"

Running away from someone. "He was in a town called Ruyi, living as a vagrant," Katara says. "He appeared to be in decent health."

(Healthy enough to run away, at least.)

Tarrlok eyes her. Katara waits to see if he'll accuse her of being economical with the truth, but... No. He knows she's withholding information, but he doesn't comment on it, and she's left feeling a little disgusted with herself.

"If he's still alive, you'll find him, won't you?" Tarrlok asks, with misplaced hope.

Katara should say, 'I'll try'. That would be reasonable. But instead, she says, "Of course. I've already made travel arrangements to the Earth Kingdom."

Tarrlok nods. His expression remains thoughtful. "Well, if you find him, please don't, uh. Don't make him suffer. No matter what he does."

Katara forces a smile. "I'm not that sort of person, Tarrlok."

Tarrlok just gets a look on his face like he's trying to think of the most tactful way to say, 'I don't believe that'. He's wrong, though. Katara isn't as vindictive as she'd sometimes like to be.

"When are you leaving?" Tarrlok says.

"Next week, actually. It's pure luck that we had this opportunity to speak while I was still in the United Republic."

"Then, if you don't mind my asking, what are your plans for me?"

"Well, like I said, you're a source of controversy. If things were solely up to me, I'd want you around during the course of the investigation; I'd ask you to come with me to the Earth Kingdom," Katara replies, struggling to keep an apologetic note out of her voice. "However, there are certain parties who think you should stand trial as soon as possible. I think that some of their concerns are valid. And there's a limit to how much I can bend the law-"

Tarrlok interrupts. "Let me guess, the rest of the Council has rushed to denounce me as a dangerous lunatic, and they're saying that all of the problems in the city are somehow my fault."

"Something like that. People were certainly quick to drag your name through the mud after you went missing," Katara says. "But-"

Tarrlok interrupts again. "Wait. Does the Council know that I've been caught?"

"Tenzin's the only person on the Council who knows," Katara says, and vows to clout him the next time he talks over her.

Tarrlok just says, "Ah." His expression doesn't change. At all.

"For the time being, we've reached a compromise," Katara adds. "You won't be standing trial any time soon, but you're to remain in White Lotus custody. You'll be staying at one of our compounds on the outskirts of the city, partly supervised by the Republic City police." Mostly for his own protection.

"I really am being detained indefinitely?" Tarrlok says. If he has more than two braincells to bang together, then he should appreciate the irony of this.

Katara shrugs. "The official excuse is that you'll be staying in White Lotus custody for medical reasons."

"What medical reasons-..." Tarrlok begins, and then something clicks. He slowly breathes in, perhaps trying to decide if he should feel offended or guilty. Then he glances to his damaged hand, and he apparently feels the need to state, "...Look, for the record, but I'm not about to do anything... problematic. As I've said, I genuinely want to see that Noatak is found, and I want to help as much as possible." The last sentence sounds a little rehearsed.

"You won't have people constantly watching you, if that's what you're concerned about," Katara says, and leaves it at that.

"So I'm being detained indefinitely," Tarrlok replies, gaze lowered. "Very well. I'm in no position to argue with that."

Katara wants to reach out and pat his shoulder.

"...Hang on," says Tarrlok, as if he's just realized something. "...Has anyone been feeding my fish while I've been away?"

"I'd assume so, but I can double-check," Katara says, without batting an eye at the question. Although she's not overly thrilled about the prospect of telling Tarrlok that, on top of everything else, his fish have starved to death. If the worst comes to the worst, perhaps she could get someone to speak with his former housekeeper and buy him some new fish that are identical to the old ones. That trick worked on Kya, once, about... oh, a little under fifty years ago.

"Thank you," Tarrlok mutters.

"Is there anything else you want me to check on?"

Tarrlok keeps his gaze on the ground, though he furrows his brow for a moment. "No. Just the fish."

Katara is about to ask him if there's anything he needs from Republic City - any personal belongings, and so on - but something catches Tarrlok's attention, and he looks up, watching the main gate. Katara squints and tries to see what he's staring at.

It takes a while for her to notice the faint rumble of an engine; Tarrlok would've heard it long before she did. Just as her ears adjust to the sound, the engine stops, and a courier walks into the courtyard, pushing a Satocycle. The insignia of the White Lotus is clearly visible on the left sleeve of his leathers.

The courier removes his helmet and goggles, shakes some of the sweat out of his hair, then walks over. He must be one of the new ones, because he seems slightly nervous. Katara's mind searches for his name as he bows and says, "Grand Lotus."

"Cho, right?" Katara asks.

"Ma'am." The goggle marks around his eyes make him look like an owl. He takes a scroll case out of his jacket and hands it over, only briefly glancing at Tarrlok.

"Help yourself to anything in the kitchen," Katara says, and weighs the scroll case in her hands. Well, at least it's not too heavy. It never bodes well when someone hands you a scroll that could double as a rolling pin.

Katara and waves away Cho's muttered, 'Thank you, ma'am', and opens the case.

She unrolls the scroll just enough to see Tenzin's seal. She wonders if the scroll really contains Official Business, or if Tenzin just wanted an excuse to use fancy stationary. The fact that the missive was delivered by courier suggests the former, but you can never tell with that boy.

Out the corner of her eye, she sees Tarrlok watching her patiently, like a dog by a dinner table.

"I think I should go inside and find my reading glasses," Katara muses, though this excuse is pretty transparent. If she can sew without the aid of glasses, then one could argue that she shouldn't need them for reading the scroll.

Tarrlok picks up on the hint that she wants to be alone, and stands up. He moves slowly, but still with a certain fluidity (though he could stand to eat a few meals, Katara notes).

"Would you mind holding out your hand?" Katara asks.

Tarrlok almost offers his right hand, hesitates, then offers his left, instead.

"Thank you." Katara takes his hand and uses it to pull herself up. She's a concerned that she might just pull him over because she's heavier than she looks, but he provides enough leverage for her to stand and straighten her knees.

Katara dusts off her skirt, sticks Tenzin's scroll in her sewing kit next to Tarrlok's report, offers Tarrlok a small bow, and heads inside the house.

* * *

><p>When Tarrlok is back in the guest room, taking far too long to choose a clean shirt from the small selection in the wardrobe, he hears shouting.<p>

The voice is definitely Korra's, and it's coming from somewhere inside the house. He hears her yell something that sounds like, 'BUT THAT'S JUST POINTLESS'.

Tarrlok puts his ear to the wall and listens for a rebuttal, or furniture being smashed, or... something, but there's nothing, just the creak of floorboards and the distant rattle of the cicadas in the surrounding woods.

He tells himself that it's none of his business, and resumes staring at shirts. (A quiet voice at the back of his mind points out that the shirts are all near-identical anyway.)

A little while later, he hears a the engine of a Satomobile. By the time he looks outside, though, the vehicle has gone.

* * *

><p>In the early evening, someone knocks on the door of the guest room. Tarrlok expects it to be Korra.<p>

Instead, he finds Beifong. Ah. He was wondering when she'd turn up again. He fights the urge to close the door in her face, aware that she'd probably just tear the thing off its hinges and throw it at him.

"Tarrlok," Beifong says, pronouncing his name as if it's something you'd find on your hands after squeezing an infected pimple.

"Yes, that would be me," Tarrlok replies, and leaves off adding, 'unfortunately'.

"Hope you've not got too comfortable here." Beifong takes a step back so she isn't blocking the doorway. "You're leaving. This way."

Tarrlok stays inside the guest room.

Part of him wonders if he should apologize to Beifong - sure, he made her lose her job, but it wasn't anything personal (and besides, she brought it on herself, and it's a known fact that she only became chief through family connections anyway) - while another part of him just wants to tell her to fuck right off. She's not Korra, and she's not Katara, and therefore he doesn't owe her anything. She's just collateral damage. She's an overpaid beat cop who's been promoted well beyond her level of incompetence.

He should probably say something, but he's not sure what.

Beifong scowls at him for a moment, then puts her hands on her hips. "Well?"

It dawns on Tarrlok that he could very well spend the rest of his life taking orders from useless little people who hate him.

"When you say I'm leaving, you mean I'm going to stay with the White Lotus? Now?"

"Yeah."

"Shouldn't I at least say goodbye to Katara before I go?"

"She's gone. Called away on business," Beifong replies. "You want to tell her anything, I'll pass it on to her."

"I just wanted to thank her for her hospitality, that's all." Tarrlok tells himself to get a grip, and starts walking. Beifong stays a step behind him, keeping him in view.

Beifong directs him to a satomobile - the same one he arrived in - parked outside the house. Korra is already slouched on the back seat, with her arms crossed; Tarrlok glances through the window at her, and gets a good glimpse of the truly spectacular pout the Avatar is wearing. Korra, to her credit, has somehow managed to produce an expression that's even more sour than Beifong's. The girl looks as if she should have a tiny storm cloud floating over her head. Perhaps she could make one.

Tarrlok gets a slight sense of foreboding.

He sits down in the passenger seat.

Beifong slams the Satomobile door like she intends to break it, then gets in from the driver's side and starts the engine.

Tarrlok refrains from looking out the windows of the vehicle. He just contemplates the shirt he's wearing, and wishes he'd picked another.

They drive in silence for a while before Beifong asks, out of nowhere, "Have you told him yet?"

Tarrlok isn't sure who she's addressing at first, and then he realizes that the 'him' might be... well, him.

Behind him, Korra's seat creaks as she fidgets. "I was going to. In a while. Soon," she says.

"Told me what?" Tarrlok says. (He's spent the past few months in the temple with people talking about him as if he isn't present. People can knock it off.)

Korra grumbles, "Tenzin's set on pressing charges 'cos you attacked him and the rest of the council."

Ah. Wait. Is that all? Is that really why Korra looks so sullen? "That's... rather what I was expecting," Tarrlok says, turning to look back at her. There has to be more to her bad mood than that, right?

Korra just lets out a small huff, as if _she's_ the one who'll be charged for bloodbending.

Tarrlok casts a furtive glance at Beifong. Beifong should be among the people who'll testify against him, after all. But Beifong just looks straight ahead and concentrates on driving. If she's gloating, she's doing a good job of hiding it. (Though gloating would imply that Beifong is capable of pleasure, and it's a known fact that the woman's face would crack if she smiled.)

The rest of the journey is uneventful, punctuated only by the occasional grumpy teenage sigh from the back seat.

* * *

><p>The landscape changes, and they drive through rolling hillside. Whenever they pass through a village, or encounter a cart on the road, Korra's seat creaks as if she's hunkering down so she can't be seen through the windows. Maybe she's worried the locals might ask her to bless their crops or exorcise evil spirits from their farm animals. Maybe she's just enjoying her bad mood and wants to be left alone with it.<p>

They eventually come to the White Lotus compound, which is another siheyuan, but much larger than Katara's. The walls are higher. Not that Tarrlok intends to be climbing over walls any time soon.

There are two guards posted by the main gate, bored and sweaty in their starched white uniforms. They wave Beifong through, allowing her to park the Satomobile inside the perimeter.

Tarrlok lets Beifong open the Satomobile's door, then unsticks himself from the passenger seat and steps out. The air outdoors is just as humid as the interior of the Satomobile. Tarrlok would worry about it ruining his hair if wasn't quite sure that he'd ruined his hair already.

The sky is now the color of blank paper.

There are more guards waiting, ready to provide an escort; the guards lead them further into the compound, until they come to a paved courtyard that's empty save for a few target bosses. Calling the compound a 'siheyuan' now seems like a misnomer. The building is shaped around a quadrangle, granted, but Tarrlok has seen the same layout used for plenty of forts and prisons.

They pause at the centre of the courtyard. Beifong clears her throat, and gives Korra a pointed look.

Korra takes a slight step forward and peers at Tarrlok sheepishly. "I have to go back to the city now. Lin'll show you around."

Tarrlok just nods.

"You'll be okay here, right?" Korra says. Her glower has softened over the past few minutes. "I mean, it's not a bad place. Kind of reminds me of where I grew up, actually."

"I'll be fine," he answers.

"I'll come visit you when I have time, and, uh... Look, if you need anything, you can just ask." Korra glances to the guards, then focuses on Tarrlok again. "Yeah, you'll be okay."

Tarrlok gives her a practiced smile. "Go back to Republic City, Korra. I bet you have plenty of other things you _should_ be worrying about."

Korra bristles, pursing her lips. She glances over at Beifong, who gives her a Look. "Alright. Fine. Bye, Tarrlok," Korra mutters, then stomps off back the way she came, shoulders squared, hands curled into fists.

Tarrlok sighs as discreetly as possible.

He now now finds himself alone with Beifong and the guards. He tells himself that he's fine with this. The guards are just doing their jobs. He'll do whatever they ask. There will be no problems. They have no reason to hurt him, apart from boredom, and he's too high-profile for them to take any unnecessary risks. Probably.

And if Beifong tries anything, she'll have to answer to Korra and Katara.

Though it would be her word against his, of course.

(He wonders if there's a healer in the compound. That was the old way of doing things: rough someone up, then get a healer to erase with the evidence. Not that Tarrlok ever needed to resort to that, back when he was on the force. Waterbenders have options that don't leave marks.)

"That way," Beifong says, pointing to a door in the northernmost part of the compound.

Tarrlok should move, but can't.

Beifong rolls her eyes. "Please," she adds.

Tarrlok snaps out of it, and starts walking.

* * *

><p>The compound has an unpleasantly institutional feel that Tarrlok associates with minor government offices. Everything smells of dust, food, and oil lamps, although also there's a faint whiff of incense in the air. He's escorted down several bare stone corridors and led to a room that - yes - has a conspicuously large lock on the door, though the interior contains such mod cons as a desk and a proper bed. It's not quite a cell, though the Powers That Be clearly don't expect him to take any evening constitutionals without their permission.<p>

He's left with Beifong, who briskly informs him of all the things he's not allowed to do (no going beyond the inner wall, don't leave the room between sundown and sunrise, keep out of the offices on the upper floors, blah blah), then warns him that he'll be randomly checked on every so often, and that dinner will be congee with vegetables.

Tarrlok fully expects the congee to be terrible, and isn't disappointed.

As he sits in his room and pushes the congee around with a spoon, he wonders how he'll cope with prison food. He wonders how his father coped with prison food. Then he remembers that his father probably didn't have to cope with prison food. His father was not a man who coped with things. Things had to cope with his father.

Beifong loiters around during the meal, arms crossed, leaning against a wall. Her presence doesn't do much for Tarrlok's appetite. He has a nasty suspicion that she's only hanging around because she spat in his food earlier and now wants to see him eat it. That's what he might do, if he was in her situation. (Or perhaps not. He'd like to think that spitting in people's food is beneath him, and that he's moved on to more adult forms of retaliation, such as seizing people's property and arresting their relatives. Unfortunately, Tarrlok doesn't have any property that hasn't already been seized, and his only remaining relative is a guy who he actually _wants_ arrested.)

"Is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?" Tarrlok asks Beifong, when it becomes clear that she won't be leaving any time soon.

Beifong barely glances at him. "Nope."

"Oh." Tarrlok almost asks her if she's expecting a tip for bringing him dinner, then thinks better of it. Then he looks down at his spoon. Is she watching him because she think he'll steal the cutlery, fashion it into a weapon, and use it to shank one of the guards in the eye before making a grand escape? Because he really doesn't need that sort of excitement in his life.

He inspects something green and soggy that he hopes is cabbage, and remembers something.

"You have a younger sister, don't you?" he asks Beifong, idly.

Beifong now looks up. Her expression suggests that Tarrlok should probably regret asking that question. Still, stupid as she is, she isn't quite stupid enough to say, 'how do you know what?' or 'mind your own business'. Other peoples' business used to be part of his job.

"You should talk to her," Tarrlok says, without making eye contact.

Beifong uncrosses her arms, which triggers a small fight-or-flight response in the part of Tarrlok's brain that's still eleven years old.

Tarrlok pretends to take great interest in the piece of organic matter floating in his congee. "It might not seem like it, but she likely misses you."

He can sense Beifong tense up (which is surprising, because he thought he'd lost his awareness of subtle body language after losing his ability to bloodbend) and he quickly puts the bowl of congee down on the desk so he won't drop it if she hits him.

But Beifong just says, "Not interested," and walks out of the room. The sound of her footsteps recedes down the corridor.

Ah, good. That got rid of her.

(Tarrlok sits and waits for a minute. Then he smirks when he hears the stomp of Beifong's footsteps as she returns to slam the door closed, lock it, and grumble about something before storming off again.)

* * *

><p>When he loses interest in his meal, Tarrlok gets it into his head to try doing some push-ups, but gives up after ten. He spends some time pacing around the room.<p>

Finally, he goes to bed out of sheer boredom.

He tells himself that boredom isn't so bad, and that there are worse things, though he can't stop picturing Noatak as an old man in a cell, not quite awake, not quite asleep. The weight of the years presses against his mind.

Outside, it begins to rain.

* * *

><p>Tarrlok dreams about the time he was eight and he accidentally hit his father in the face with a harpoon handle.<p>

The dream isn't as satisfying as it should be.

* * *

><p>Someone gently shakes Tarrlok's shoulder. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes.<p>

There's a moment of disorientation that almost gives way to panic. He doesn't know where he is. This isn't his apartment. This room is too cramped. Why does it have bare stone walls? He thinks of Noatak, and of forgotten rooms, old attics, empty houses, closed doors. Then he recalls meeting Katara yesterday, and his brain manages to catch up with reality. The fear subsides.

There's just enough light coming through the small, high windows to define the shape of the girl standing over him.

She puts her index finger to her mouth to say be quiet.

"Korra?" he murmurs. A year ago, he might have been quite happy to find the Avatar in his bedroom, but now he just has the nagging feeling that she's here to kill him.

"Shhh," she replies. Yes, she's definitely Korra.

Tarrlok sits up in bed. Whatever she wants, it's too early for it. Or too late. His sense of time has been a mess ever since his encounter with the Equalists. "What are you doing here?"

Korra stands back so she's not looming over him so much. "I'm breaking you out."

Oh, alright. Wait. No. What? "But I only just got there," Tarrlok says.

"Well, now you're leaving again," Korra replies. "Come on. Get your shoes."

"What is the meaning of this?" Tarrlok hisses. It's (probably) the middle of the night. He's not going anywhere without a cup of tea first. Besides, it's still pelting it down with rain outside. It's loud enough for him to hear it. He's developed a special hatred of rain over the past few months.

Also, he's dimly aware that if he leaves the compound, it'll look like he's continuing the family tradition of going on the lam. This should bother him more than the rain, really.

Korra keeps her voice low. "I'm going to find Amon, and you're going to help."

"What?"

"I said, I'm going to find Amon and-..."

There are not enough cups of tea in the world for this. "I heard you. No!"

Korra pauses. Tarrlok can tell she's staring at him by the way she tilts her head. "Really? You'd rather stay here? Because-"

Tarrlok cuts her off. "Why do you need to find Am-... Noatak, and why do you expect me to help you? What about Katara? Hasn't she gone to find Amon? Aren't I meant to be going to trial soon? Wasn't Tenzin going to press charges? Why are you in my room? How did you get in here? Is this legal? This isn't legal, is it? What do you think you're doing?"

"I'll, uh, explain later," Korra says.

Tarrlok wants to hit her. "You're seriously asking me to go with you?"

"Well. Yeah."

"No. You'll get me in more trouble than I'm in already."

Korra puts her hands on her hips, and takes a moment to think. "You can tell everyone I kidnapped you," she says, darkly, "Don't worry, I won't lock you in a metal box."

"And if you kidnap me, then what?" Tarrlok snaps.

"I'm going to head to the place where Katara's going."

"And?"

Korra pauses again. "...I'll find Amon."

No. No no no. No thanks. "Avatar Korra, that is the worst plan I have ever heard in my life, and if you think it's going to work, you're even stupider than I thought."

Korra takes a step forwards, and Tarrlok can now see her face. It looks vaguely murderous.

Right, that's it. He's had enough.

Tarrlok takes a deep breath. "GUARDS, THE AV-"

He sees the blur of Korra's fist before everything goes dark.


	4. Chapter 3: Winter ASC 170

_Winter, ASC 170_

...

Survival is simple. If you're not strong, you have to be smart. If you're not smart, you have to endure.

Wei's first coherent thought is: _get up, kiddo. Walk it off. If you don't get up, they're going to make sure you stay down._

The world is bright and it sings with pain. He tries to focus his eyes, and discovers that he's in a large room with a high ceiling. There's gym equipment on racks, stacks of boxes, old furniture, forgotten things, the smell of dust.

Wei hauls himself to his feet and puts a hand against the wall; he follows the wall until he finds a door. He concentrates on walking. Each step requires focus. The door leads him to a corridor, and a breeze ruffles his hair. The end of the corridor is too bright to look at.

He can smell the sea, and smoke. He wonders why he has grit in his mouth.

He has no idea where the hell he is.

Has he been drinking? Maybe. That'd explain things.

Then someone grabs his right wrist and pulls like they want to wrench his arm out of its socket, and all he can hear is shouting and the distant wail of police sirens. His body moves of its own accord; his brain is still busy trying to unfuck itself.

He follows a grey-clad figure down flights of stairs. There are so many stairs. A shitload of stairs. Twice as many stairs as he needs in his life right now. Each step sends a jolt of pain up his torso, running right from his ass to the scruff of his neck. His spine feels like it's a telegraph wire transmitting bad news.

The sirens are getting closer; Wei still has a good ear for these things.

Shit, _what has he done this time?_

Whatever it was, he's not going to stick around to find out.

Finally, he finds himself in the underworld, which is all wet brick walls and stale air. He wants to tell his guide that he doesn't care what he gets reincarnated as in the next life, just so long as it's something poisonous.

Then he realizes that he's in one of the tunnels under the city.

The world lurches sideways, then stops as a hand grabs his elbow. He knocks the hand away and leans against the wall. He can still hear the sirens, although he's not sure if they're real. It feels like there's something embedded in his back. He tries to touch it, but it hurts too much.

"Sir?" says a male voice on his left. Wei can't see very well. "Sir. You're okay, you're okay. Sir, we have to go."

Well, if someone says he's okay, then that's good enough.

Wei makes himself keep moving. He feels like he should be angry about something, but he doesn't know what.

Maybe he'll run into the anger later. Anger is a very patient thing. It can wait.

* * *

><p>The world lurches again, and he finds himself sitting on the back of a motorbike. One minute he's limping along, and then: bam, motorbike. The engine is as loud as his headache, and he can't look at the racing tunnel walls without wanting to puke.<p>

Are they running away from something? He'd glance back to see if they bike is being followed, but that'd require moving his neck, which... yeah, no, that's not going to happen any time soon. His neck might be broken. He might even be dead already. That'd be novel. He's never been dead before.

The bike tears along for what feels like hours. Wei wants to close his eyes, but knows that he shouldn't.

Eventually, just when he's starting to believe that he's been stuck on a fucking bike in a shitty little tunnel forever and this is the entire extent of his miserable existence, the bike pulls into an alcove. Wei still has the presence of mind to note that there's already another bike propped against the tunnel wall, even though he feels like he left half his brain and most of his dignity back at... Well, wherever he was a moment ago.

The bike propped against the wall is a different model to the one he's on, but it has the same manufacturer. Future Industries. Hiroshi Sato's company. Wei knows Hiroshi Sato. Sad guy, decent when in a good mood. Good boss. Respected by his people. Kind of unstable, but the smart ones usually are, and... Huh.

Why would Wei know Hiroshi Sato? Because they've worked together. And why have they worked together? Because...

The bike's driver - the driver of the bike that Wei's sitting on - pushes out the kickstand, dismounts, and takes a bag from the back pannier. They then remove their mask. Turns out they're some Earth Kingdom-looking kid with short brown hair and a black eye. Wei knows the kid - he's known him for years - so it's going to be real awkward if he can't remember his name.

"I sent Biyu ahead to make sure the way was clear and tell Lan we were coming," the kid says, then stares at him. "You're not gonna flake out again, are you?"

"Thanks," says Wei. Yeah, Biyu's another familiar name.

The kid keeps staring, eyes large with worry. "You need help getting off the bike?"

"No, I can.." Wei tries to move his right leg over the fuel tank, but struggles. How the fuck did he get on the bike to begin with? Did someone pick him up and stick him on it? Was a hoist involved? "I...Yeah."

The kid offers a shoulder to lean on.

"Where am I?" Wei says, although he's not sure he'll like the answer.

"Tunnel under Thousand Hands street," the kid says.

When Wei doesn't reply, the kid adds, "We're a mile north of the Arena."

And that's when everything clicks into place.

The kid is called Zheng. Zheng is on the third chi blocking team. The third chi blocking team were posted in the east wing of the Arena; they were ordered to go after the escaped airbenders when the Avatar attacked. When the Avatar attacked, Amon went after her. When Amon went after the Avatar, Wei went after Amon, and-

Wait. Amon.

They were at the rally. That's how-

How he-

Fuck.

No.

_Shit._

...

Well, that explains why everything hurts.

Wei lets out a very deep breath. He tries to think of something to say, and settles on, "Is there something stuck in my back? Because it's killing me."

Zheng raises his eyebrows, but leans around to check Wei's shoulders. "Your back looks fine, sir."

Wei has trouble believing that, but whatever. He could panic - if his spine is damaged, he's in trouble - but it wouldn't solve anything. And anyway, Zheng is watching, so panicking and throwing a shitfit just isn't a viable option.

A thought pops into Wei's head, unbidden, and quiet, without fuss: he wishes Amon had killed him. He tries to push the thought away, but it seems so reasonable.

"Thousand Hands street," Wei says, forcing himself to focus on the present. "That's... We're near Lan's place, right?" People's names and faces are coming back to him. Zheng, Biyu, Lan, Yi Rong, Amaguk, Gansukh, Jiru...

Zheng nods, starts walking down the tunnel, then pauses when he realizes that Wei isn't following. "Uh, this way, sir?"

"Yeah. I know. I know where I am," Wei murmurs, and makes himself put one foot in front of the other.

* * *

><p>Lan's place is accessed via a ladder that's tucked away in another alcove. Wei climbs the ladder with Zheng just a few rungs behind; Zheng probably wants to make sure that Wei won't faint again and fall off.<p>

The ladder leads to the basement of a medicine shop, entered through a trapdoor. It's too dark to see much, but Wei recognizes the basement by its smell. He straightens up (aughfuck, it hurts) and gets a faceful of dried mulberry leaves. There are bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling. The scent helps him focus.

Wei pushes the herbs away from his face, and tells Zheng, "I need a radio."

"Right," Zheng says, and finds a light switch. A single bulb illuminates the basement with a yellow glow, revealing shelves crowded with murky things in jars. Zheng gently pushes against one of the shelves, and it slides back easily on hidden runners, revealing the compartment where the radio is kept.

Just as Zheng hefts the radio out and sets it down on an examination bench, Lan appears on the basement's stairs, arriving in a flurry of skirts and jangling bracelets. Her expression betrays little, and her voice is quiet as she asks, "What happened?"

Wei doesn't know how to answer.

"I think he's got a bad concussion. He kept spacing out on the way here," Zheng mutters.

"I'm alright now," Wei says, on principle.

Lan walks towards Wei and stands on tip-toes so she can inspect his eyes. It's hardly the first time she's had to do this since they've known each other.

"What happened?" Lan repeats.

"I'll explain later," Wei says, stepping away from her. "I have to contact Sato."

He hasn't yet worked out how he's going to explain things to Sato, but hey, he'll burn that bridge when he comes to it, or whatever. Wei shoos Zheng away from the radio set and makes the final few adjustments by himself. Then he dons the radio's headphones and tunes the device to the frequency used by the west airfield.

Very carefully, he taps out a code on the telegraph key, and listens for the response.

There's only the crackle of static.

Wei checks everything - the headphones, the settings, the cabling - and tries again.

The static persists.

Wei feels sick, but that might be the concussion.

He tunes to a different frequency, and taps in a different code, contacting one of their manned relay stations. The relay station respond just fine, so it's not Wei's radio that's the problem.

Wei tries the airfield again. In the privacy of his mind, he bargains with whatever ancestral spirits might still be listening: _if you can get Sato to respond, I'll try to be a smarter person. I'll stop doing stupid shit. Please._

Nothing changes, though.

Wei takes off his headphones, afraid that the white noise might be messing up his ability to think, and rubs his temples. He lets himself wallow in misanthropy for a few seconds (Why isn't Sato answering? Why are people so useless? How the fuck did Sato become a millionaire despite being a gormless shitstain who should've been drowned at birth?), then turns to Lan. Lan is standing just a few paces away, idly chewing the end of her braid.

"Hey. Try and raise Sato for me," Wei, tells her. He wants to rule out the possibility that he's doing something wrong, because he can't quite yet believe that both Amon and Sato have failed him today.

Lan takes the headphones and holds one of the speakers to her left ear. She taps out the code (Wei watches to make sure she's doing it right) and holds her breath.

Wei counts ten seconds, and then Lan says, "Um, no one's responding."

Wei is beyond being angry. If anything, he wants to laugh. Laugh, and stab someone. "Alright," he says. "I'm assuming command in the meantime."

Ha ha, they're screwed.

* * *

><p>The good news: Lan concludes from a cursory examination that Wei's back probably isn't broken. Maybe. Well, hopefully not. The battery for his kali sticks took the worst of the impact; Wei just has a massive bruise across his shoulders to show for it. Lan says the pain might be due to a herniated disc. She gives him some painkillers and dutifully offers the usual advice that Wei always ignores.<p>

The bad news: there's everything else.

Wei radios a few of the other teams and ends up being bombarded with requests for information. Many of the messages are mis-keyed and incoherent. Wei's understanding of code isn't all that great, but he can still tell what most people are asking: what happened? What now? Help?

Wei has to take his headphones off and focus on his breathing for a moment. He won't be much help to anyone if he lets the fear get under his skin. He looks over at Zheng. "You saw the Avatar at the rally, right?"

Zheng is sitting on the basement stairs, picking at the calluses on his hands. He glances up. "Yeah. Sir."

"Where's the rest of your team?"

"Well, Biyu should be around someplace here, but the rest of the guys stayed at the Arena to help the First and Second teams stall the United Forces."

"What did you see after the Avatar attacked?" Wei asks. He needs to be sure that someone else knows the truth.

Zheng stares for a moment, as if the question is some kind of test, and Wei's heart sinks.

"It's alright," Wei says. "Just tell me what you think you saw."

"There was a lot of stuff going on. It was pretty confusing."

"I'll bet. Don't worry if what you say sounds crazy or whatever."

Zheng glances to Lan - who is a solemn, mute presence lurking in a corner - and seems to resign himself to something. "We were trying to find the airbenders, sir. Then Biyu rushed to the window and started yelling about a huge waterspout in the bay, so I went to look. The spout was there for, what, like ten seconds, and everybody outside just sort of stopped what they were doing to point and yell at it. I thought the Avatar was causing the thing but, uh... It wasn't. It was a guy."

"And what were people yelling?" Wei asks.

"I don't know. I couldn't hear them."

"This guy. Did you get a good look at him?"

"Sort of. He high-tailed it pretty quick, though."

"I see." Wei runs a hand through his hair. There's still plaster dust in it. He feels a pressing need to get very drunk. "Did you see where he went?"

"Not really, sir. Sorry."

Wei is about to ask Zheng if he saw the guy's face, but then someone opens the door at the top of the stairs, and a girl peers into the room. It's Biyu - she's had the sense to change back into civilian clothes, but the mad gleam in her eyes says she's still got a combat buzz.

"I, uh. Sir," Biyu breathes out, "I was watching things from the roof. I just saw Yi Rong's signal light. He says they've definitely lost the west airfield. No one knows where Sato is."

Wei only nods, unsurprised.

* * *

><p>Wei's first task as leader is to is to find out how many people are still in the game. It turns out: not many. The defense of the harbor was a shitshow.<p>

As they're all pretty much fucked, Wei's second task is to tell the remaining airships to get away from the city. They can't afford to lose any more vessels. A single airship costs more money than he's ever seen in his life, and it's doubtful they'll have the resources to build new ones any time soon.

As the west airfield is a goner, all the remaining aircraft will be using their backup landing locations. They all can sort themselves out and refuel. Some quick repaint jobs will be in order.

Wei's third task is to tell all the radio operators on the ground to keep sending out a retreat message for the next three minutes before burning their code books.

Once that's done, He leans against the examination bench, and stares at nothing in particular.

He reflects: it's not first time he's lost a fight. It's not the first time he's been lied to. It's not the first time he's been unceremoniously dumped, either.

He starts laughing, which hurts.

"Sir?" Zheng says, loitering by the doorway. Biyu is back up on the roof, watching the skies with binoculars, while Lan is busy cramming a few last-minute things into an old carpet bag.

"I'm alright," Wei says. "Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>Wei leaves Lan's basement and takes to the tunnels again.<p>

Running away never really stops being humiliating. It's not something that gets easier with practice.

But what else can you do? The longer they stick around, the harder it'll be to get away. The current chaos is good cover for a retreat.

Still, there's something Wei needs to do before they leave the city.

Lan insists on going with him, as he's in no state to ride a Satocycle by himself, and she's best qualified to deal with him if he loses consciousness again. Zheng and Biyu will leave separately, taking different routes. Travelling together wouldn't make any of them safer, and Lan's probably the most (dangerous? uncompromising?) effective combatant in their little group anyway; Wei will have to stick with her for a while.

Lan hands him a gas mask - just in case they run into trouble - and says, "Where to?"

"Go down the tunnel south of Camellia Road, take the second turn," Wei says. He's pleasantly surprised that he can remember this, given the circumstances. "I need to get something from there."

Lan nods. She briefly reaches up to pick a splinter of wood out Wei's hair, but says nothing.

* * *

><p>They take Zheng's bike, although they have to still make part of the journey on foot so Lan can scout ahead and disarm any traps. Eventually they make it to the basement of a safe house. Wei runs his hands over the walls until he finds some loose bricks. With a bit of work, he uncovers a wooden box, just big enough for him to tuck under one arm.<p>

"You got anything you need to do before we leave?" he asks Lan. He doesn't want to leave the city. He shouldn't have to leave the city. It's his. He fought for it.

"I'm good," Lan says, though her voice suggests otherwise. Her back is turned to him as she keeps keeps watch by the doorway.

Wei tries to think of something to say, then remembers that he's never been very good at inspirational speeches. He heads back out to the tunnel.

* * *

><p>From the safe house, it's a long drive north along a storm drain, then out and across the countryside and into the mountains, until the city is just a distant glow on the horizon. Wei stays doped up on painkillers for most of the journey, which is good, because Lan drives like a tiny maniac; Wei has to keep his arms wrapped around her waist to stop himself from falling off the bike. If he had a capacity for fear, he'd be terrified. And even with the painkillers, he still feels like he's being shanked in the ribs whenever Lan goes over a pot hole. He decides that he's too old for all of this. He doesn't want a revolution any more. He wants a bowl of congee and a nap.<p>

They reach a valley some time in the late evening. One of the surviving airships is tethered at the bottom of it; the gas envelope is just visible within a cluster of trees. It's dark, but Wei can make out the figures darting around the airship's bulk, marked by the glow of their goggles.

Lan switches the bike's headlamp on and off a few times to identify herself. From the ship, another light signals back. The bike is allowed to drive straight up into the loading bay. As they pass through the hatch, Wei spots some battle damage on the airship's port side - a few long rents in one of the engine casings - and hopes that it won't be a problem.

Once they're safely inside, Lan quickly dismounts, hopping off the bike with enviable ease and flashing more leg than is strictly ladylike. Wei tries to follow her, but movement requires a degree of planning; he has to pause and try to think of a good way to straighten his shoulders that won't make him want to scream. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Lan stare at him. She then glances around to make sure that no one is watching, and discreetly offers an arm for support.

Wei manages to get upright and on his feet just in time as the ship's captain, Gansukh, jogs into the loading bay. The first words out of her mouth are, "Where's Amon?"

"Missing," says Wei. "Continue with the contingency plan."

Gansukh scowls. "What happened? First Jiru sent us the message that Amon was dead, then Amaguk sent us the message that Amon was captured, then we got something about waterbenders, then we saw the signal that the air field was gone, and then you sent the order to retreat. What's going on?"

Wei is very tempted to tell her that he doesn't have a clue. "It's complicated. Just continue with the contingency plan."

Gansukh doesn't budge. All she does is take a cigarette box from her shirt pocket, draw a toothpick from it, and pop the toothpick in her mouth. Her eyes remain on Wei's face the entire time.

Fucking Gansukh. She's always done whatever Sato asked, but whenever Wei tells her to do a thing, she gets an attitude problem. (And which bright spark decided that Wei's escape route would involve passage aboard Gansukh's ship? It was Sato, wasn't it? Thank you, Sato, you useless sack of lard.)

"Continue with the contingency plan. That was an order," Wei adds. If Gansukh wants an explanation, tough shit. Right now, he's incapable of explaining how he puts his own socks on, never mind anything to do with Amon.

Gansukh takes a deep breath, then turns away and heads back to the bridge.

Lan is busy making sure the bike is stowed away. She waits until Gansukh is out of earshot, then tells Wei, "You should lie down."

That's not a terrible idea, actually. Wei goes to a corner of the loading bay and sits on the floor. He uses his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his face.

Lan gives one last tug on a ratchet strap, ensuring that the bike is fastened to a bracket on the wall, and then she wanders after Wei. She crouches by his side, hugging her knees. "Will you now tell me what happened?" she murmurs.

Wei can't.

Wei has known Lan for four years, ever since they dealt with the firebender who was 'protecting' the lab where she worked. She's not the only medic in the organisation - heck, she's not even the best medic in the organisation - but she's easily Wei's favorite, given that she's small and quiet and non-judgmental and useful and has managed to pass numerous background checks.

He doesn't have the guts to tell her the truth. He'll break her heart, and then she'll break his by accusing him of lying. And then she'd tell others, and he's not sure if he's smart or charismatic enough to keep them from turning on him...

But if he doesn't tell her the truth, then what? The truth will have to come out sooner or later.

"Boss?" Lan prompts, very quietly.

"I'm not sure, kiddo," Wei says. "I'm sorry."

Lan lets out a little sigh, and stands up, bracelets chiming. "I'm going to fetch you a blanket. What should I tell Gansukh if she asks me what happened?"

"Tell her that, uh..." Of course, Wei can't think of anything.

"I'll tell her that you're high on painkillers and not making any sense."

"Hey, I'm pretty coherent."

Lan just raises her eyebrows. "Look, tell me if you have any nausea, difficulty breathing, numbness in your limbs, the usual, alright?"

Wei's had concussions before, and he's had suspected spinal injuries before. He can't remember his back ever hurting this bad, though. But even if he is horribly fucked up, what can any of them do about it right now? "Yeah, sure," he says.

"If you fall asleep, I'm going to wake you up every so often to check on you," Lan warns, walking to the bridge.

"Uh, yeah, no," says Wei. "That's going to be fucking annoying. Don't bother."

Lan pauses and looks back at him. "I have a responsibility."

"I don't think I'm gonna die in my sleep, but if I do die in my sleep, I'll die regardless of whether you keep ruining my nap or not."

"That's not..." Lan begins, and huffs. "Look, don't die in your sleep."

"I'll try not to."

"Good!" Lan says, and marches off.

* * *

><p>Sleep comes easily, though. The hard floor feels good against Wei's back.<p>

Lan, annoying little shit that she is, wakes him several times, and every time she wakes him, he tries to sit up and look for Amon before he remembers what happened.

Lan finally leaves him alone after he starts shouting at her. He's not sure what he says, but it's enough to make her go away.

Then he drifts. He dreams that a wolf has stolen his spine, and that he's chasing it through the slaughterhouse district.

* * *

><p>Wei shivers. He swallows (his mouth still tastes like blood and plaster), and his ears pop. It takes a moment for his brain to register that he's still in the airship's loading bay; the coldness of the air tells him that they're at a good altitude. Daylight streams through the portholes. The noise of the engines sounds strange, somehow; a little lopsided.<p>

Wei looks around for Amon yet again, then winces.

He looks around for Lan, instead.

Lan isn't around, though. The only other person present is Gansukh, standing just a few paces away from him - he recognizes her boots before he glances up and sees her scowling face.

What's her problem?

...Oh. Right.

He's sorely tempted to tell her to go fuck herself. He has much more right to be angry than she does, and if she's going to blame him for what happened, then-...

Then what?

He's injured, and he's disposable. He doesn't have Amon's abilities or Sato's bankroll. All he has is his knowledge of the organisation, and that just makes him a liability. Gansukh might as well just kick him out one of the bomb doors. Heck, maybe the only reason why she hasn't kicked him out of the bomb doors yet is because Lan would kill her for it.

"Mornin," he greets her, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Gansukh crouches so they're eye-to-eye, and keeps staring at him, unamused. "We've lost the West Airfield, there's no word from Sato, people are saying that Amon betrayed us, Amaguk's gone quiet, and I've just got word that Yi Rong's dead and half his team is in jail."

Half of this is old news, but the bit about Yi Rong catches Wei off-guard. "Wait. Dead?"

"Jiru told us. The police cut off the escape routes in the Dragon Flats district barely an hour after the rally broke up. Yi Rong's the only death we know about, so far."

Wei last spoke to Yi Rong yesterday morning. He'd been fine just then. The thought of him being dead seems... Well, it seems stupid. If Wei didn't know better, he'd ask Gansukh if she was really sure that Yi Rong was dead, as if there could've been a miscommunication somewhere.

Wei knows he'll hear of more casualties over the next few days.

"How many airships do we have left?" Wei asks.

"Just the Wolong, the Kilat, and the Khagan." And they're already aboard the Khagan, so that makes a grand total of three.

They started off with a fleet of thirty.

Wei wants to pull his blanket over his head. "What kinda state are the Wolong and the Kilat in?"

"They're in better condition than we are. Huang says he's got the second and third chi blocking team aboard with him." Huang's in charge of the Wolong, while the Kilat is captained by some pointy-faced Fire Nation asshole called Takamori. They're Sato's people; Wei's never really had much to do with them, though he knows their histories and their habits. He knows where their families live. He knows enough to believe that they can be trusted.

"Has Huang got, like, everyone on the second and third chi blocking teams? Are they all accounted for?" Wei asks.

"Seems that way. No one's injured, they've not ran into any trouble, and the Wolong's making good time. It's already a few hundred miles ahead of us."

Wei lets himself feel a degree of relief.

"And where are we right now?" he asks.

"Somewhere near the Yi Wen coast."

"How long before we land?" Wei says. If Gansukh's sticking to the plan, then their destination is a small island, codenamed Nightjar, in the southern Earth Kingdom. There, they'll meet up with the remaining airships and have an assembly of sorts.

"Around ten hours, because our second port engine isn't working." Gansukh's eyes narrow, assessing him. "How're you feeling? Lan said you were in a bad way."

Heh, cute; as like she reckons he can't can't tell what she's thinking. (Bomb doors. Short drop to the ocean. No one would ever find his corpse.) "Yeah. I reckon I'm still fit to lead for the time being, though," Wei tells her. "Unless someone else wants the job of being the guy who'll get blamed when things go wrong."

Gansukh keeps watching him. "Can I speak frankly with you?"

"What, you're not speaking frankly already?" Wei says.

Gansukh doesn't even blink. "We're... in a bit of a pickle, aren't we?"

Wei wants to laugh. How's he meant to reply to that? "We just need to follow the contingency plan."

"You have no idea where Amon is, do you?" Gansukh asks.

Nope. And Wei can admit this, or he can come up with some bullshit, but he can't decide which would be the lesser evil.

The thing about Gansukh, though, is that she's always been more loyal to Sato than to Amon. If Wei is honest with her about what happened at the rally, maybe she wouldn't accuse him of lying. That's got to be worth something, even though it doesn't mean he trusts her.

He decides to be frugal with the truth, and answers, "No."

She doesn't look real surprised about this. "What happened?"

"What, at the Arena? Amon went after the Avatar, I went after Amon; next thing I know, I'm picking myself up off the floor."

"People are going to want answers," Gansukh says.

"Yeah," Wei mutters, "I'm aware of that."

"So what am I meant to tell my crew in the meantime?"

"Use your discretion. It's probably a hell of a lot better than mine right now."

Gansukh's expression darkens slightly, as if he's just confirmed every suspicion she's ever had about him. "Right. I'm currently trying to make an inventory of our remaining materiel. I guess we'll know how we're fixed once that's done."

"Yeah, sure." They have food, fuel, and a few spare vehicles stashed away as a precaution, but the loss of the airfield will really put a dent in their resources. Even if Amon hadn't turned out to be a subhuman piece of shit, it seems likely that they still would've lost the fight. Wei doesn't want to dwell on that right now, though. "You know how many of us are still in fighting condition at this point? How many arrests and casualties do you think we're looking at?" To say nothing of deserters.

"No idea yet."

"Yeah, it's probably too early to be asking that," Wei says. "Hey, listen - is there anyone on this ship who was present at the rally?"

"Sungchul and Guo were."

"How much did they see?"

"Guo was outside. He says he saw the waterbender, if that's what you're getting at."

"Did he get a good look at him?"

Gansukh's expression actually softens very slightly. "Guo had binoculars."

"I'm betting some of the people in your crew have drafting skills. Can any of them do portraits?"

"Sungchul can. I'll go ask him." Gansukh doesn't seem perplexed by his questions. That's a good sign.

"Yeah, please. Y'know, while things are still fresh in people's memory," Wei says.

Gansukh stands up - only pausing to take a half-chewed toothpick from behind her ear and put it between her teeth - and gives Wei a grudging nod. Then she turns and climbs back up the stairs to the upper deck, taking the steps two at a time.

Well, that conversation could've gone a lot worse.

Wei just sits on the floor for a while, fighting the temptation to lie back down and stay there until someone trips over him.

His back hurts.

Yes, he going to blame everything on that. His back hurts. That's why he's not in his right mind. His back hurts. No wonder he can't think clearly. His back hurts.

He decides that he'd better try moving around. Moving around is always a good idea, because it proves that all your limbs are still functional. With a bit of effort and a lot of swearing, he gets to his feet, leans against the wall for a few minutes, then goes to where Lan's bike is stowed. He hunts through the bike's pannier until he finds the wooden box he recovered earlier.

Then he rests the box on the bike's seat and tells himself to stop being such a fucking sadsack.

Inside the box are a some stacks of bills, a few chunks of platinum, fake identity papers, a cheap carving of a dragon, and a folded-up shirt. The shirt is just a simple, homespun thing, unwashed; Wei picks it up, begins to unfold it, then changes his mind.

What now?

Wei reminds himself that he's been in situations far worse than this and, so long as he manages to avoid prison and the triads, his circumstances aren't that bad. So people have let him down - so what? That's happened before. He's had injuries that were just as bad as this. He can still walk and - so far - he's still free, so he's doing okay, all things considered.

No one's entitled to a life free from misery. The world is filled with all sorts of horrible shit, and its only luck that keeps you out harm's way. A broken heart - and that's all it should be, really (not something soul-destroying, because that's giving Amon too much credit) - isn't _that_ bad.

But is it enough to keep him going: the thought that, hey, it could be worse? And he's got a pretty clear idea of what 'worse' would entail, and it doesn't exactly make him feel better about things.

And now he's like an idiot teenager again, asking questions that can't be answered. He imagines how dumb he must look: some stringy old guy clutching an unwashed shirt and sulking.

Eight years, though. He'd been with Amon for eight years.

(He's going to castrate that bastard.)

He's fairly sure that he's incapable of being any more pathetic than he is right now, although the day is young.

He puts the folded shirt back in the box.

Then he stands up, wipes his face on his sleeve, puts the box back in the bike pannier, and begins to climb the stairs to the upper deck.

He hopes more than anything that Amon is still alive.

* * *

><p>Once he's got the materiel inventory from Gansukh, Wei reads over it in the quiet of the loading bay. He's already starting to think of the place as his turf, while the ship's bridge belongs to the Khagan's crew. It helps that the loading bay is relatively roomy. He needs space.<p>

He reads Gansukh's impeccable handwriting, and takes notes. He calculates how long their fuel reserves will hold out if all the surviving airships travel so many miles per day. Then he calculates how long their food rations will last. He gives it about two weeks.

(They're going to need help. Problem is, the only person who's likely to help them by this point is the shipping magnate, and Wei would rather eat his own fist than talk to the shipping magnate.)

They have three airships left, and eight planes. The airships aren't carrying much kit because their main priority was the bombing run. Fuck knows where most of the other vehicles have ended up. A few teams have sent word that they're okay despite still being stuck in the United Republic, but it looks like most of the chi blockers are either 1) captured or 2) (hopefully) sensible enough to ditch their equipment and go incommunicado.

There are extra supplies and vehicles stashed in various places, although it's only a matter of time before someone reveals their locations to the police. If the authorities have Sato, then Wei has to assume they know everything he does. People usually crack sooner than you'd think.

Wei sits on the floor of the Khagan's loading bay, and wonders how long Amon would last, if the United Forces got to him.

He wonders how long he'd last, if if the United Forces got to him.

Actually, fuck it, no, the prospect of getting caught isn't even up for consideration. Getting caught is not an option. It is not a feasible eventuality. It is not an acceptable outcome. Getting caught is not something that will happen to Wei during his lifetime.

There's no point thinking about it.

Instead, maybe he'd be better off worrying about the threat posed by his fellow Equalists. The moment he opens his mouth and starts claiming that Amon is a bloodbender, a lot of them are going to go lose their shit. He wouldn't blame them for it, either.

Should he ditch everybody as soon as they reach the mainland? That'd be the cowardly option. But if he stays, what does he have to offer? All he'll do is create controversy.

Controversy seems inevitable, though.

If he's honest, he can admit that the organisation is probably screwed, and he hasn't got the brains or resources to salvage anything from this whole mess. Despite what people say about him, he does know how to pick his battles. There's no point in trying to hold the Equalists together. That'd be a fool's errand. And already has another fool's errand that he'd rather pursue instead: he wants to find Amon.

In the meantime, he still needs to figure out how much he should tell the others.

He tries to compile a mental list of people he knows he can trust. It's a short list. All the people he considers 'loyal' are the same people who'd react badly if he told them Amon was a bloodbender. There are a handful of individuals who wouldn't be angry if he told them the truth; they'd just think he was confused. Though, hell, maybe he's underestimating them. Maybe some of them would believe him if he made a good case. But he doesn't know. It's a risk. And if they call him a liar, he'll has to live with that. He'll have to look them in the eye and be honest with them, then stand there and take it when they accuse him of being a traitor.

What if he is wrong about Amon, anyway? What if the guy who attacked him wasn't Amon at all?

...Nah. It'd take a lot of rationalization for him to believe that the guy wasn't Amon. It's not like he hasn't had suspicions about Amon before. Which is further proof that he's an idiot: he had doubts, but he didn't do anything about them. Maybe he brought all of this on himself.

Dwelling on this shit isn't helping. He's already too quiet, too passive. He's meant to be in control of things. The organisation has suffered under enough bad leadership already. People will be looking to him for solutions.

He wants to get very, very drunk.

"Boss?" Lan asks, out of nowhere.

Wei flinches, caught off-guard. He didn't hear Lan approach; she must've removed her jewellery. (Why? What's she up to? Why does she need to sneak around?) Lan is now standing a few paces away, chewing the end of her braid again.

"Yeah?" Wei says.

Lan looks over her shoulder, then crouches in front of him so they're almost eye to eye. "This is going to sound paranoid, but..."

Nothing would sound paranoid to Wei any more. "What?"

"I don't like Gansukh," Lan says. Her crew keeps watching me, like they think I don't notice."

"Oh." Yeah, that figures. Gansukh would have to go through Lan if she wanted to get to Wei, and the risk of a mutiny seems pretty high right now. If Wei claims that Amon is a bloodbender, people can use it as an excuse to kick his ass. However, if Wei doesn't admit that Amon is a bloodbender, then they might just as well kick his ass anyway.

It all depends on how smart people will want to be about things, though. If people are sensible, then they won't try anything just yet. It's going to look suspicious as hell if something happens to him while he's aboard Gansukh's ship. Gansukh doesn't have anything to gain by attacking him at this point; she can afford to be patient.

"I'll go talk to her," Wei tells Lan, and stands up, very carefully. (Why did he ever think it was a good idea to sit down? He feels like his entire spine got slammed in a door.) Lan offers him a shoulder to lean on, and he has to take a moment to compose himself.

He catches Lan looking at him, and her face is pale and sad.

And, well, shit. If he's going to be telling the truth to anyone, then Lan should be the first to know. (He's meant to trust her, isn't he?)

"Hey," he says, "You know earlier, when I said I couldn't remember what happened?"

"Yeah?" Lan replies, cautiously.

"I lied."

"Ah."

"I got attacked," Wei says.

Lan waits for him to elaborate, eyebrows raised.

Wei can't do it. He can't tell the truth.

It's like someone's jammed a wrench into one of the cogs inside his skull. He can almost hear grinding noises.

"Hey, Lan," he says, quieter now.

"Yes?"

"Slap me."

Lan eyes him.

"Just... Just slap me, alright?" Wei says. You know when you have a machine that's not working properly, and you hit it? Maybe that works on people.

Lan takes a small step backwards, raises her left hand, looks at her left hand, looks back at Wei, then gives him the saddest little slap he's ever received. It's like being swatted by a kitten.

"That was pathetic," Wei says.

"Sorry."

"Try again."

Lan tries. This time, it actually stings a little.

"Oh come on, Lan," Wei laments. "Do it properly. Don't try to hit me; try to hit through me, like you're trying to slap something that's over my shoulder and my head just happens to be in the way."

Lan now squares her shoulders. "No. You have a concussion and you're being weird."

"Dammit, Lan."

"So who attacked you?" Lan asks.

"What?"

"A moment ago, you said someone attacked you."

"Yeah, I..." The more he talks, the more absurd he sounds. "Look, how much have you heard already? What're the rumors going around?"

"I don't know. I've been listening to Gansukh's crew. They say Amon went missing after the Avatar turned up at the rally, and that we lost contact with Hiroshi Sato at around the same time."

"Did they mention what the Avatar said at the rally?"

"Something about Amon being a bloodbender."

"Well," Wei says. "I got bloodbent."

Lan stares at him, long enough for Wei to count three breaths. Then she looks over his shoulder, chews her upper lip, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Okay," she replies, in one drawn-out breath. Okaaaay.

"Look, don't..." Wei begins, about to say 'don't look at me like I'm a whackjob'. In all fairness, he probably IS a whackjob, but that doesn't mean he's a liar. "...I really did get bloodbent."

Lan keeps staring.

"I know what I'm saying," Wei tells her. "And I know what it sounds like."

Now Lan looks thoughtful. "Did you get a good look at your attacker?"

"Lan. Listen. If I had any doubts about this, I wouldn't be talking about it. Why would I be saying this stuff if I didn't think it was the truth?"

Lan holds up both her hands like she wants to ward him off. "Okay, okay. But, with all due respect, that's the thing: you think you're telling the truth. I mean, what did you see, exactly?"

"Right. There's the rally. We're on stage. The Avatar turns up, right? The Avatar and the, I dunno, her boyfriend, y'know, that kid with a head that's shaped like a zongzi. They attack, the airbenders get loose, Amon goes after the Avatar, I go after Amon," Wei says. "Anyway, I'm a few steps behind, a few paces away from the storage room, and everything goes quiet. I stop running. I get all paranoid that maybe the Avatar is being used as bait, and that maybe I'm walking into an ambush. I walk right up to the storage room, and there's the Avatar getting bloodbent."

Lan's expression remains blank.

Wei adds, without pausing for breath, "I'd recognize Amon anywhere, right? I know we're talking about a guy in a mask, but if I thought I saw an impostor or something, I'd say so. Saying that I saw an impostor and not Amon would make things easier for me. And look at all the shit that's just weird. Look at all the coincidences. Like when we went to apprehend Councilman Tarrlok, and we all got bloodbent except for Amon. And then Amon goes and keeps the Councilman separate from the other prisoners, and no one was allowed to have any contact with him because he was 'a special case due to his involvement with the Task Force' or whatever; whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he just shot me down or changed the subject. Amon was always good at changing subjects, but anyway... Then the Avatar turns up and claims that Amon and Tarrlok are related, and... Fuck it, I don't know, but if it walks like a bloodbender, swims like a bloodbender, and quacks like a bloodbender, I'm gonna assume it's a bloodbender."

Lan takes a moment to process that last sentence. Probably imagining a quacking bloodbender.

"So you're saying Amon attacked you?" she asks, slowly.

Wei wants to kick something, but pauses to consider the question. "Actually, I tried to attack him. I must've got about three steps before he just picked me up and threw me, I guess."

Lan doesn't immediately reply, but sits down on the floor, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her hands.

Eventually, she says, "This is... I don't know. If anyone else was saying this stuff except you, we'd have to... uh, do something about them."

Wei laughs uneasily. "Yeah. I know."

"Like, if I thought Amon bloodbent me, and I came to you and claimed that Amon was a bloodbender, then... It'd be a much shorter conversation, wouldn't it?" Lan gives him a hard look.

Wei grimaces. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can tell you. You want to call me a traitor or a hypocrite, go right ahead."

Maybe the organisation should deal with Wei as they'd deal with any other dissenter. Maybe that would only be fair. Maybe he deserves a mutiny.

"I can't believe he'd attack you, though," Lan murmurs, glancing away.

"I can," says Wei - and as he hears himself speak, he gets a nasty little insight into just how bitter he is. It occurs to him that he's pretty much a dried-out cat turd of a human being and there's nothing in him except hatred, and then dismisses that thought, because it's not real helpful right now.

Lan shakes her head. "You're really sure it wasn't the Avatar who-"

"Yeah. Like I said, I saw her getting bloodbent. I don't think she could fake something like that. You know that, uh, that poison you make from trees?"

"I, um - which one? Most of my poisons are made from trees."

"The people that makes people contort into weird shapes and start shaking. That one. Y'know, the one you used on those triple threat goons last year, and then you said you'd never gonna use it again because it gave you nightmares. That's what bloodbending looks like. That's what the Avatar looked like. Normal human beings don't move that way. Spines aren't meant to bend like that. Look, I remember this shit vividly. I'm not just confused 'cos I hit my head."

Lan lets out a huge sigh. Wei wishes she'd stand up, because she looks especially small and mousy and pathetic while sitting down. Wei feels like he's a parent who's just had to tell his daughter that, sorry, mommy and daddy don't love each other any more because mommy ran away with the door-to-door brush salesman. _Great_, he thinks, _there's no way she'll grow up to be a well-adjusted young woman now_, and he has to suppress a nauseous chortle because Lan is all of twenty-six years old.

"So what now?" Lan murmurs.

"Now I got to go talk to Gansukh," Wei says.

Lan stands up, and smooths down her skirt. Her eyes look a little vacant. "Okay. Right."

"Can you keep your shit together, Lan?"

Lan looks up at him, and nods once.

"Good." Wei says.

Lan seems to focus slightly. "You're not... I mean, you're going to tell Gansukh that Amon's a bloodbender, aren't you?"

"I'm gonna have to say something about Amon, and it's always easiest to tell the truth. Why?"

"I don't... I don't know."

"You still think I could be wrong?"

Lan's expression goes vacant again.

Wei smiles a little. "I'm kinda asking you to choose between me and Amon here, aren't I?"

"I wasn't at the rally," Lan says. "I didn't see what happened."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not mad at you. I'd probably say the same if I was in your situation," Wei says. "I still need to tell Gansukh what I saw, though."

"What if she uses it against us?" Lan asks.

"I doubt I'll be telling her anything that she doesn't suspect already."

"Yeah, but if you tell her Amon's a bloodbender, then that's an actual admission of..." Lan pauses, and seems to lose her train of thought. "Of something."

Wei shrugs. "Hey, Lan?"

"Yeah?"

"If things turn ugly and I get scapegoated for all the bullshit that's gone down over the past few days, then I want you to focus on your own survival. Side against me, if that's what it takes." Wei isn't sure if he's saying this because he means it, or if he's just gauging her reaction.

Lan scowls, which is an improvement over the glassy-eyed look she had a moment ago. "Seriously? That's horrible. You think I'd do that?"

"I don't know. But I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Lan is speechless for a moment. She looks like she's about to slap him (properly, this time). Then she angrily sticks a hand down the neck of her dress, digs out a rectangular object, and shoves it at Wei. "Here! Take this."

Well, that's uh... What is she offering, exactly?

Wei stares at the... whatever it is. It looks like a cigarette lighter - one of the fancier wind-proof ones with the maker's name embossed on one side - but... Wait. Wei's seen similar devices before. It's not a real lighter, it's just a flashbang grenade that's disguised as one. You arm the things by spinning the flint wheel. "What the fuck, Lan," Wei says. "Why are you still keeping explosives in your under-things? We had a conversation about this already. I told you. One of these days you're gonna blow a titty off."

"I just figured you might need a grenade," Lan says, "Just in case."

Wei takes the grenade from her, partly for her own safety. "I'm not gonna throw grenades at my own people."

"Hold out your hands," Lan snaps.

Wei sighs, and does so.

Lan reaches into her left sleeve. She takes out: a pocket watch, a tube of lipstick, a pack of cigarettes and a cigarette holder, and some candy wrapped in colorful foil. She dumps the items on Wei's palms.

"I'm guessing I shouldn't eat the candy," Wei mutters.

"The green ones are okay. The red ones aren't."

"Why not?"

"Because they're aniseed flavor. Also they contain a heavy sedative."

"What about the green ones?"

"They're lime. They're alright."

Wei just pockets the candy. "And the rest of it?"

"The cigarette holder is a dart gun; there's a dart inside that's tipped with a muscle relaxant. Don't smoke the cigarettes; they trigger psychosis. Um, except for the cigarette in the back, the one that's a different way around to all the others. That one explodes. The lipstick has a hidden compartment with a powdered sedative in it. The watch... also explodes. But only if you turn the dial to midday."

"The watch explodes?"

"Yeah."

"The watch doesn't release a toxic gas or fire needles at people's eyes or anything like that?"

"No. It just explodes."

"Just checking." One has to be sure of these things. "Do you have any other explosives on your person?"

"Only a few."

Wei looks up at the ceiling of the loading bay as if he'll find the courage to be strong up there. "You know, Lan, don't you ever worry about what'd happen if you... tripped and fell downstairs or something?"

Lan's scowl is replaced by a thoughtful expression. "That hasn't happened yet."

Wei sticks the items in the pockets of his pants. Maybe this is a bad idea, but then again, it's hardly the first time he's had dangerous things way too close to his crotch.

He squints at Lan for a long moment, then trudges up the steps to the bridge.


	5. Chapter 4: Winter ASC 170

The Khagan's bridge is like the inside of a greenhouse - stuffy, bright, and warm - and the bridge window is filled by the grey-blue sky. There's the faint yet persistent whiff of electronics and old socks.

Gansukh is standing near the wheel, talking quietly with her helmsman, who's some short Water Tribe-looking guy with a round, earnest baby seal face. It takes Wei a moment to recall the guy's name, but he's pretty sure that he's is called... Siluk, or something. Everyone in the organization needs to wear a name badge; Wei's memory isn't getting any better. He's been hit in the head a lot during his lifetime.

Gansukh and Siluk keep talking as Wei approaches. Wei is a little gratified to discover that, rather than scheming to overthrow him, they're just discussing the merits of various hangover cures.

"Captain?" Wei says.

Gansukh glances over, then turns to face him, straightening her shoulders. "Yes, sir?"

"I'd like to call a meeting."

For a second, it almost looks like Gansuhk is going to follow the order without question - she nods once, and glances towards the speaking tube - but then she says, "Alright. Are you going to tell us what's going on now?"

Lan is behind Wei's left shoulder and out of sight, but Wei swears she's holding her breath.

Wei scratches his chin, and looks out the bridge's window. "Well..." he begins. Shit this is awkward. "You've heard what people are saying about Amon being a waterbender, right?"

Gansukh opens her mouth to speak, pauses, and gives Wei a sudden look of understanding. Her expression turns ugly.

"You," she says. "How long have you known?"

Lan takes a small step forward, putting herself at the edge of Wei's vision.

"What?" Wei says, and takes a moment to figure out what Gansukh is implying. She's clearly had time to listen to the rumor mill over the ship's radio. "I've known he was a bloodbender since yesterday, 'cos, uh, that'd be _when he fucking bloodbent me._ You think I'd knowingly associate with someone like that?"

"You were the one closest to him," Gansukh says. "You must've suspected something."

"There wasn't anything I could prove," Wei says. "And even if I had proof, how many people wouldn't have believed it anyway?"

Gansukh keeps staring at him for a while longer. Then, for a split second, she glances to Lan, then uncurls her hands and breathes out.

"Why didn't you tell me about Amon when you first boarded my ship?" Gansukh asks.

"Because we had other priorities. If I had told you back then, what difference would it've made?" Wei says.

"It would've showed me you were honest."

Wei considers turning around and walking away, but he's not sure where he'd actually go, given how he's stuck on an airship and all. "Yeah, well, I'm being honest with you now. Look, if you don't trust me, fine. I'm not entitled to anyone's trust, especially not after what's happened. You've got good reason to be pissed off and, you know, fuck it, I don't know what to say to you. But I don't want to fight you over any of this. It'd be pointless." And messy. If they got into a brawl on the Khagan's bridge, the fight'd be all elbows and fists everywhere and people getting their faces smashed against all the pointy brass fixtures, and Lan might randomly explode because she's smuggling nitroglycerin in her drawers or whatever.

Gansukh crosses her arms. She exchanges a glance with Siluk, who keeps his mouth shut and maintains a neutral expression.

"I'm... not happy about the way things have turned out," Gansukh says, like that isn't obvious. Still, Wei finds it reassuring that her anger seems genuine. There's nothing cool or calculating about her right now. She's just some poor asshole who's sacrificed her career for nothing (and it was a pretty good career, truth be told) and is now responsible for an airship full of fugitives. If Wei could bother to waste empathy on people who hated him, he'd feel sorry for her.

"Well, at least you believe Amon's a bloodbender," Wei says.

Gansukh draws another deep breath, as if she's counting to ten. "What do you intend to do next?"

Get drunk and cry. Turn heterosexual. Throw myself off a cliff. "Guess I'm gonna have to find him and make him eat his teeth," Wei says. "Assuming I can get to him before anybody else does."

"Well, if Amon's missing, we have to get to him first," says Gansukh; she's already smoothed some of the emotion out of her voice. "It's bad enough that we've lost Mr. Sato already."

Yeah, that'll be a problem. Sato should offer some resistance when questioned, but Amon has shown himself to be the sort of person who'd likely sell them all out in a heartbeat. He's just a special kind of asshole, an asshole who goes above and beyond the requirements of regular assholery.

"I got some ideas for tracking Amon down. I just need to survive long enough to see my plans through," Wei says, then carefully straightens his back so he's standing at his full height. "Actually, let me ask you, Gansukh: what do you intend to do next? Because my gut feeling is that the organization'll fracture. At the very least, we're gonna end up with two groups: the people who think Amon's a bloodbender, and people who think he isn't. And when everybody realizes that the organization's gonna split, they'll make a grab for any materiel that's left over, and then they'll try to form their own little cliques so's they can do their own thing. So what's your next move?"

Gansukh looks out the window. "You've read the inventory I gave you, I take it?"

"Yeah. I know we're on borrowed time."

Gansukh gives a distracted nod. "My main concern is money. I don't need to tell you how much it costs just to maintain this ship. And I'm not interested in... In politics. I'm willing to believe that Amon was, well, ah... Well, I'm willing to believe that he lied to us. I'm not going to waste time arguing about it with anyone. My goal is survival."

Money. Right. There are still a few backers who they could approach, but shit, Amon's left them all looking like a bunch of chumps. Wei might have to swallow his pride and grovel (so maybe it's fortunate that he doesn't have a lot of pride left). There's only one guy who's still likely to lend them money in a pinch without question, and that's the shipping magnate. And the shipping magnate is 1) a scumbag, and 2) easily the most annoying person Wei has ever met, so-

Gansukh interrupts Wei's train of thought. "I'll help you find Amon because I don't like loose ends," she says. "However, if you catch him... Then what?"

"I'll kill him," Wei says, without hesitation.

"You're not going to ask him why he did, uh... what he did?" Gansukh asks.

"Nah. Some guys don't have a why. I'm just gonna kill him quickly and be done with it. Last thing I want to do is hear that bastard talk again."

Gansukh scratches the side of her neck, mulling over this, then shrugs. "Killing him is much easier than trying to take him alive. How're you going to prove it's him, though?"

"I know his boot size and his measurements for armor. I figure that'll do."

"Ugh. That's a little..." Gansukh begins, then glances to Lan as she addresses Wei. "...I mean, given that we're dealing with such a dangerous individual, how will that work in practice? For a start, how are you going to track him down?"

"I've got some clothes with his scent on them, and I know a shirshu tracker who can be trusted," Wei says. "However, that'll have to wait a while. Right now, I'm more concerned with what I'll say to the other guys when we land. I need to explain all this shit to people without them lynching me."

Gansukh exchanges looks with Siluk.

"If I was you," she offers, "I wouldn't try to explain anything. The others will have heard the rumors by now. A lot of them will have already made up their minds as to whether Amon's a bloodbender or not. And it'll be a lose-lose situation for you: either you'll look like a liar, or you'll look like a dupe."

Wei fights back a pang of anger at her honesty. "Yeah, don't I know it. But I have to say something. Silence would be worse."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Wei inwardly grimaces. "Go ahead."

"What we you didn't meet up with the other cells, but kept going south to one of the other fuel reserves?" Gansukh says.

Wei eyes her. "And how would you explain that?"

"We could just tell people that we thought the assembly point had been compromised, and that we'd contact them once we were sure it was safe to do so."

"So you'd lie to them."

Gansukh's façade slips, and she looks genuinely angry again. "Oh come on, what's one more lie? We're all in this situation because Amon lied to us, and we lied to ourselves. Everything's just varying degrees of denial at this point."

Wei glances to Lan, to see how she's faring. Lan is looking at the floor, dejection plain on her face.

"Lan?" Wei prompts. "What do you think?"

"I don't feel qualified to comment, sir," Lan murmurs.

Lan rarely ever calls Wei 'sir'.

Wei considers things. In all fairness, Gansukh has a point. If he tells the other Equalists that Amon's a bloodbender, he's going to look like the world's biggest asshole. You can't just go up to a bunch of people and admit that their leader is a fraud. Wei's hurt people for saying less than that.

But Wei follows Gansukh's suggestion and postpones meeting up with the other cells, then what? He'll be stuck aboard the Khagan with her, isolated from the rest of the organization. And he has no idea what she might tell (or what she's already told) the others.

"So, lemme get this right, Gansukh," Wei says. "A moment ago, you were bitching at me for not telling you the truth as soon as I boarded your ship. But now you're suggesting I lie to everyone else?"

Gansukh opens her mouth, but hesitates a little too long before speaking.

Wei cuts her off. "For your sake, I'm gonna assume that you're just saying stupid shit because you're angry and under stress. 'Cos I like to have good faith in people, and I know you wouldn't want to compromise the safety of your crew. Right, Lan?"

He hates having to use Lan as a crutch like this, but she's the only person on the ship who'd be useful in combat right now. She's the only leverage he's got.

Lan lifts her head, and gives Gansukh a speculative look.

Siluk keeps his gazed fixed on the skies ahead, but leans away from Gansukh ever so slightly.

Gansukh carefully adopts a blank expression. "Well, it was a suggestion. You saw how I reacted when you confirmed that Amon was a bloodbender. You must know that others might react a little more... dramatically than I did. And you said yourself that it'll probably be everyone for themselves from this point onwards."

"Even so, I think we'll stick with the contingency plan so's I can let people know what happened," Wei says.

Gansukh just nods. "Of course. I can tell you that the Wolong and the Kilat already reached the meeting point a few hours ago. Captain Takamori says the area is secure."

"Alright." For her sake, Gansukh had better be telling the truth. "In the meantime, I'd like a word with Sungchul and Guo," Wei says.

"Certainly. I was wondering when you'd ask," Gansukh says, and turns to the speaking tube. Finally.

* * *

><p>The bridge gets kind of cosy with Sungchul and Guo in it.<p>

Guo is the crew's navigator. How Guo ended up becoming a navigator, Wei has no idea, because Guo looks like a platypus bear that's been shaved and cruelly forced to wear human clothes. Maybe the Khagan had a proper human-sized navigator at some point, but Guo ate him and took his place.

Sungchul's relatively nondescript. The worst thing Wei can say about Sungchul is that Sungchul might be using engine grease as hair pomade.

Wei wedges himself into a corner, and watches as Sungchul squeezes past Guo to take a seat at the navigator's table, quickly getting to work with some paper and charcoal.

Guo looms over Sungchul's shoulder as he draws. Guo insists that the eyes need to be further apart, the mouth needs to be broader (but not that broad), the cheekbones are flatter, the nose isn't that big, and so on. They enjoy a brief argument over the shape of Amon's chin. The argument is only resolved after Sungchul threatens to shove a charcoal stick up Guo's nose, though he'd probably need a step ladder to achieve this.

Eventually they get a picture that Guo claims is sort of (generally) accurate, and everyone crowds around to look.

"I don't know, though," Sungchul says. "It looks like I just drew a picture of Councilman Tarrlok."

Yeah, Wei can see the likeness. The guy depicted in the sketch has a similar brow. But if the picture was meant to be portrait of the Councilman, then it's a pretty flattering one.

"No, Councilman Tarrlok isn't as, uh..." Gansukh begins, then seems to think very hard about the comment she was about to make.

"Councilman Tarrlok looks more punchable," Guo says. "He has a supremely punchable face. Like a fist-magnet."

"What do you think happened to Councilman Tarrlok, anyway?" Sungchul says as he picks charcoal out from under his nails.

"Last I knew, he was on Air Temple Island," says Wei, then looks to Gansukh. "Right?"

Gansukh shakes her head. "Amaguk told me we'd lost the island about half an hour after things went wrong at the rally, and now no one knows where the Councilman is."

Well shit, Wei is out of the loop. "Didn't the authorities get him when they took the island?"

"The police made a statement about him being missing. I heard it on the radio," Gansukh says. "Of course, whether you want to actually believe the police is another matter."

Tarrlok could've yielded some useful information about Amon, but now he's probably dead or in police custody or he's fucked off back to the Old Country so he can continue to kidnap teenage girls with impunity. Wei sighs. "Does Amon have any other alleged relatives I don't know about?"

"No. Just Tarrlok, according to the media," says Gansukh.

"You sure? He's not got any long-lost second-cousins, no step-siblings, no evil twins or nothing like that? I'm just asking 'cos in the past month I've got jumped by not one but _two_ surprise bloodbenders, and if happens again and it turns out they're all related to each other, I'm going to shit."

Sungchul takes a deep breath "This would be a bad time for me to admit that I'm also actually a bloodbender, right?"

"Crap," says Guo. "So am I."

"Actually," Sungchul adds, looking up at Wei, "We're all bloodbenders. All of us. Except you. Sorry. We were trying to think of a tactful way to tell you, but..."

Wei absolutely does not smile. He has nothing to smile about. "I knew it," he says, grimly. "I'd fight you all, but I got back problems, so if you could just do me a big favor and kick yourselves in the dick, that'd be great, thanks."

Sungchul grins briefly, and taps his charcoal against the table. "And now I'm wondering: how do you fight a bloodbender?"

"Obviously not by running straight at him like I did," Wei says. "Nah, you just need to stay out of their reach. We've been relying on the fact that a lot of benders are weaker at close combat 'cos they're used to making ranged attacks, but with a bloodbender, you obviously can't get all up in their space."

Siluk is still at the helm, watching the clouds, but he helpfully offers, "We could just bomb him."

"That doesn't sound very satisfying, to be honest," Guo says.

"Well, we got to find the guy first," Wei says. "Then we'll see." (But what are they going to do if they can't find him? How long will people be willing to support Wei's little revenge mission?)

"He's probably drunk under a table somewhere," Gansukh mutters, without needing to add, 'that's where I'd be'.

Wei smiles ruefully. "Hm, no, he's not like that. He's probably got everything set up so he can run away and start a new life on Ember Island or whatever."

Lan has been quiet for a while, but now she speaks up. "If I was a bloodbender, I'd go where there's lots of people. Plenty of shields."

Everyone shuts up for a moment to think about that.

"Hey. When you saw the waterbender in the bay, did you see him attack anyone?" Gansukh asks Guo.

Guo shakes his head. "Nope. He just ran. Or... swam, whatever."

"That's odd," Gansukh says, scratching her chin. "If I was him, I would've started hurling civilians at the Avatar."

"That's because you have no capacity for shame, Captain," Guo cheerfully informs her.

Gansukh has a point, though. If Wei was a bloodbender and he had nothing to lose, he'd be pelting hapless bystanders at anyone who dared to get in his way. He'd be twisting people's limbs off for fun. "I don't think shame had anything to do with it," Wei says. "Shame's gotta be a foreign concept to someone who lies to people for years. He's just a coward, that's all. Probably lost his nerve 'cos he suddenly realized he was much dumber and more vulnerable than he thought."

"We don't..." Lan begins, then seems to reconsider what she was about to say. "I mean, I've never seen Amon panic. That doesn't sound like him. Like, even when a situation got out of control, he'd stay calm. He'd adapt."

"He was only human," Wei says. A very quiet, sober human, but human all the same. (Wei remembers the way he smelled, and the weight of his body, and - irritatingly - how gentle he could be when it suited him.) "He's gonna bleed the same as anybody else. I'm not expecting him to be an easy target, but I know we can deal with him. Bloodbending's the kind of technique where the bender's only got a real advantage if they can get the drop on people."

"Amon's human, huh?" Sungchul says, wryly. "Huh."

Wei marks Sungchul's attitude as a potential problem. Wei also wants to wince. Technically, no one had ever claimed that Amon _wasn't_ human - it served the cause if people saw him as an ordinary person who was only marked by fate - but... Well. Amon spoke to spirits. Allegedly.

Ordinary people do not speak to spirits.

Though maybe ordinary people should.

"Yeah, well, what can I tell you?" Wei says, suddenly feeling tired. "We all expected better from the guy." And they all saw what they wanted to see. They're all fuckwits, and Wei is chief of the fuckwit clan.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, although Lan's expression suggests she's biting her tongue to keep her mouth shut.

Wei clears his throat. "Anyway," he says, gesturing to Sungchul's portrait of Amon. "Can I have this?"

"Sure, whatever," Sungchul says, handing the portrait over.

Wei carefully folds up the piece of paper and tucks it into his undershirt.

* * *

><p>They arrive at their assembly point, Nightjar island, at dawn the next day, a little behind schedule due to the Khagan's busted engine. Wei stands on the bridge during the approach, just so he can eavesdrop on Gansukh's radio conversations. Gansukh does a pretty good job of ignoring him as much as possible.<p>

The island is covered by trees; there are no signs of human habitation. It crosses Wei's mind that if he died in a place like this, miles from anywhere, no one would ever find his corpse. But then again, so what? It's not like Republic City is much safer; that place has its own share of disappearances. Hell, disappearing isn't even the worst thing that can happen to a guy. (Wei's seen the work of triad earthbenders firsthand. If you hear someone's gone missing, that's bad, but it's still better than than watching their friends and family digging in the dirt with their bare hands while the entire street just watches, too scared to intervene. Six minutes. That's how long they say it takes for a person to suffocate.)

Wei tries to think of something less morbid.

He tells himself that the trees should remind him of the countryside where he grew up. He tells himself that he shouldn't feel lost.

The city was kind of a shithole, really. Maybe he should be happy if he never has to see it again.

Gansukh signals with the the Khagan's lights to ask for permission to land. Within a matter of minutes, some of the trees part to reveal a clearing, just large enough to accommodate the Khagan's envelope. It looks like the other airships are already out of sight, camouflaged with their surroundings.

The Khagan gently lowers itself to the ground. After the dust settles, Wei looks out the bridge window. The darkness between the trees is absolute.

Fortunately, it isn't long before Takamori, the captain of the Kilat, steps out from the shadows and approaches them. He holds up a hand to signal that it's safe. A few grey silhouettes loiter some way behind him; Wei hopes they're Takamori's crew.

Gansukh and her crew go through a few mandatory post-flight checks before disembarking, though Guo and Siluk remain behind on the ship as a precaution. Wei follows Gansukh; Lan is a step behind him, craning her neck as she looks up at the branches above.

Takamori comes to greet them. He looks tired and sober; a little relieved to see them, maybe.

Wei expects Takamori to ask, 'where Amon?', like Gansukh, but instead Takamori just says, "Glad you made it here alright. We're a little short-staffed, but the repairs on your ship should take a day or so. Most of the others are at the listening station."

Wei remembers seeing the plans for the island. There's a machine shop, an underground fuel reservoir, a small dock, some sheds that contain bunks and spare equipment - and yeah, a listening station. He tries to remember the exact layout of the place so he can think up escape routes, but islands aren't exactly known for their escapability.

"You had any trouble, seen anything odd lately?" Wei asks Takamori.

Takamori breathes out an awkward chuckle. "Well, I... I'll tell you later. But we got here without running into trouble, and the island's secure."

Hmm.

Lan glances over her shoulder, back at the Khagan.

Wei gives Takamori a sideways look. "Tell me what later?"

"Oh. Uh. We saw lights under the sea when we were passing by the Haetae Isles awhile back," Takamori says. "Big lights. Could've been a school of fish, I don't know, but..." He shrugs. "We're pretty close to the Winter Solstice, so I figured, maybe..."

"You saw a sea monster?" Wei says flatly.

"Could've been the Haetae," Lan mutters. "Do Haetae swim?"

Takamori gives another quick shrug, smiling nervously.

Wei considers asking further questions, but decides against it. He wonders what a sea monster would taste like. Maybe the Equalists will have to take up fishing if they can't secure a proper income within the next few weeks.

They pass under the canopy of trees to the flimsy metal hut that houses the listening station. The building looks like it'd fall over if Wei sneezed on it. Apparently Sato didn't have much money left after building all those platinum mecha tanks.

As they near the shed, Wei spots a few members of the third chi blocking team milling around. They're still wearing their uniforms, including their masks.

Why are they still wearing their masks?

Wei looks back over his shoulder, but there's just the heavy velvet curtain darkness of the forest.

He glances over at Gansukh. She looks back at him, a little wide-eyed, but doesn't say anything. Lan is just a step behind her, although she's still peering at the branches above.

You know when you fall, and you get that sick anticipation of the impact right before the ground hits you? That's the feeling he gets.

Even so, he still steps into the listening station, because he doesn't fancy trying to run back to the Khagan at this point.

The only person inside is the listening station a bespectacled young woman with large, patient blue eyes and a vulpine Fire Nation-y face. Her hair is tucked under a headscarf, and she's wearing a pair of overalls, but she still manages to look prim. Wei's sure he's seen her before, somewhere, but he knows she's not part of the organization. She's standing by one of the radio sets. She offers a bow.

Wei pauses in the doorway and looks back at Lan, Gansukh, and the rest of the crew. Takamori has made himself scarce. The chi blockers seem to be slightly closer than they were a moment ago. Lan has now clearly noticed them, because her hands are curled into fists.

The woman in the listening station gives a soft little 'ahem'. "Sir? No one means you any harm," she tells Wei, like he's meant to believe that.

Wei keeps his attention on Lan, and gives her a 'don't you fucking dare, young lady' sort of look. There is a time and a place for Lan's methods, and this isn't it. She'd better not do anything stupid. Wei's the only person here who has the privilege of making terrible decisions. And while he has no idea what they're dealing with yet, instinct tells him that it isn't the triads or the United Forces. Otherwise things would be a lot messier.

Lan lets out a small sigh.

Wei considers the woman in the listening station again.

"My employer would just like a word with you," the woman says. "Everything is already set up."

There's a chair by the radio set. The woman gestures to it.

Wei slowly approaches the radio set, but prefers to stand. Someone closes the door behind him, and Wei fights back a wave of nausea. He does the best to ignore the unhelpful little voice in his head that's telling him he's just made his last mistake.

"What the fuck's going on?" Wei asks the woman. He wonders if these will be his last words. They'd be fitting. Someone should put them on his gravestone, if he ever gets a gravestone, which doesn't seem very likely by this point.

The woman doesn't blink. "My employer will explain."

Wei goes to open the listening station's door again.

"This needs to be a private conversation," the woman says.

"Why?"

"As I said, my employer will explain everything."

"What if I don't want to talk to them?"

"You will."

"Why?"

"What other options do you have?"

"I always have options," Wei says, because that's technically true, although sometimes those options are pretty stupid, like 'sit on the floor and sulk while refusing to speak to anybody'.

"If you speak to my employer," the woman says, slowly, "it can't make your situation any worse."

"Don't you threaten me," Wei says, and opens the door.

Outside, the Khagan's crew are standing in a little huddle, just out of earshot, muttering to each other. Lan is eyeballing one of the guys in the chi blocker uniforms as if she'd like to put his spleen in a jar, and Gansukh is scowling (though when is she not?), but... They don't look too scared, given the circumstances. Just agitated.

"We're trying to help you," the woman says, behind Wei.

Wei snorts, and doesn't look back at her. "Why?"

"You have valuable information."

"Yeah, no. Not really. Apparently I was just Amon's attack dog and occasional fucktoy. Not that I'm bitter about this," Wei says bitterly. "You want to talk to someone who knows stuff, then go find Sato. Call me if you ever, like, need someone who's good at falling off roofs."

Wei looks back at the woman, and she peers at him, eyebrows raised. "Okay, sir, if you say so, but I'm not going to believe any of that for a second. Please talk to my employer."

Well, whatever. Wei decides that he's willing to talk to this asshole purely out of morbid curiosity. If all else fails, at least he can personally tell them to fuck off.

Wei closes the hut's door again, carefully sits down at the chair by the radio set, and picks up the headphones.

He makes a a mental note of the frequency on the dial, as if that'll count for anything. Then he jabs the transmit button for just long enough to say, "What."

At first there's just the crackle of static, but then a voice comes through: "Testing, testing... You can hear me, right? Over."

The voice is male, and it doesn't have an accent that Wei can place. Like a lot of things in Wei's life, it seems vaguely, frustratingly familiar.

Wei doesn't reply, but looks around the listening station, taking in the corrugated iron walls and the racks of electronics. His gaze settles on the woman: she just stands there, shoulders square, hands clasped behind her back, and looks back at him with cool disinterest.

"Hee-llo?" says the voice over the radio. "Dammit, is this thing on? Over."

Wei deigns to answer. "I can hear you."

"Great!" says the voice. "Because we need to have a little chitchat. A rap session, if you will. Uh, by the way, if you're not sitting down already, you might want to-"

Wei holds the transmit button down. "Wait."

The voice sounds like it belongs to a total asshole. Wei goes through the long list of total assholes he's known during his lifetime. It takes him a moment to find the right name, and then... Ah. Shit. It's him. It's that guy.

It's the shipping magnate.

"_You_. What do you want?" Wei growls, before grudgingly releasing the transmit button again.

"Whoa, I'm sensing a lot of hostility here," says the shipping magnate. "Relax, Lieutenant, I'm on your side. I've already done you a bunch of favors already! Do you have any idea how close you got to crossing paths with a United Forces patrol when the Khagan passed the Yiwen coast? PRETTY CLOSE. And do you know who distracted that patrol by deploying a distress flare a few miles north? That's right: ME. So maybe you should be saying 'thank you', because we're both meant to be civilised men capable of having a civilised conversation about civilised things in a civilised manner. Over."

If it wasn't for his bad back, Wei would slowly lean forwards until his head would hit the tabletop with a thunk. He does not like the shipping magnate.

Wei is developing a special contempt for the Water Tribe.

"Hello?" the shipping magnate asks. "Lieutenant? Over."

"What the fuck do you _want_?" Wei repeats.

"Ha ha, c'mon, let's not make this about me. You're much more interesting than I am. I mean, you're a genocidal terrorist. Wait. Sorry. Not a terrorist. 'Revolutionary'. You're a genocidal revolutionary! Doesn't get more interesting than that! I bet you'd be real fun at parties! Except... No one's ever gonna invite you to a party ever again, because EVERYONE HATES YOU. I gotta say, attacking the Air Nomads was a dick move that cost you a lot of sympathy points. Kinda overstepped yourself there, pal. Do you know how easy it was for me to find out your location? You're just lucky I got to you before anybody else did. Over."

Wei presses the transmit button just so he can sigh into the microphone for a whole three seconds. "Okay, don't tell me... I've figured out what you want. You're gonna offer me your protection in exchange for... something, right? Fuck, you're predictable. Over."

"EXACTLY." There's a sound that might be the shipping magnate clapping his hands together. "...Though, sheesh, you make it sound like a bad thing. Don't you want my protection? Or would you rather spend the rest of your days in a prison cell? Because prison looks like the next best scenario! At least in prison, the guards can only hurt you in ways that don't leave obvious injuries, whereas if the triads get their hands on you, then... Well, let's just say that they're gonna enjoy a little more creative freedom. Heck, I don't know, maybe you wouldn't mind prison so much. Maybe you even miss it. Maybe you got kinda... What's the word? Institutionalizeded."

Don't react, Wei tells himself, trying to ignore the nausea gnawing at his gut. He shouldn't be surprised by how much the shipping magnate knows. The shipping magnate is in a different league. The guy has more money than sense.

The shipping magnate continues, "Hey, I hear United Republic prisons are still mostly staffed by earthbenders. Guess things haven't changed much in the past... what, twenty-five years? Over."

Somehow, Wei still manages to keep his voice level, despite the pressing need to commit murder. "You're laying it on kinda thick here, pal. You're not exactly winning me over. Uh. Over."

"Just speaking a language you understand. You got a rep for being real stubborn, you know that? Like pathologically stubborn. Anyway, yeah, you got it: I can offer you protection in exchange for information. Nice and straightforward. Over."

Wei lets out a chuckle that just sounds downright sad. "Right. And how do I know you're not just gonna take the information and then kill me, given how I can identify you and all? Over."

The guy laughs. "Sorry, Lieutenant, but you don't pose THAT much of a threat to me. And I'm a nice guy! I'd prefer to let you live. And you want to live, don't you? Picture it now. New name, new identity. No more hard floors. No more sleep deprivation! No more looking over your shoulder. No more watered-down congee or expired army rations for breakfast. No more broken ribs. Freedom! The central Earth Kingdom's pretty nice around this time of year. You're not getting any younger. How's your back feeling, by the way? You might want to get a proper doctor to look at that. I knew a guy once, accidentally stepped off the side of a fishing trawler and hit the quay below. Just kind of bounced right off it. Anyway, he seemed alright apart from some back pain, kept doing his job as normal... And then, get this, a week later he wakes up and finds that he can't move his legs. Ha HA, spines are weird! Over!"

Well, Wei thought he couldn't hate anyone more than he hated Amon, but he might've been wrong about that.

"If I don't pose a threat to you, then why've you got your goons posted here?" Wei asks. "And what the fuck did you do with my chi blockers?"

"Yeah, don't mind the goons, they're only there to make sure you don't do anything stupid. And... Wait a minute, let me check my notes..." There's the rustle of paper. "...This is the point where I say, 'we can do things the easy way, or we can do things the hard way'. I'm a little concerned that you might choose the hard way, because it's a known fact that you are utterly insane and you want to fight the entire universe, but I also figure that, hey, maybe you're miserable and tired enough to see reason. So what'll you choose, Lieutenant? Over."

Wei closes his eyes. Even if he could get past the goons, he'd still be stuck on this island.

"What did you do with the chi blockers?" Wei repeats.

"They're in the hold of one of my airships. They're okay. Plucky bunch of kids you got there. What's the age of the oldest? Twenty? You get 'em while they're young, huh. Do you hand out free candy during recruitment drives or something? Over."

Wei refrains from telling him to fuck off, the oldest is 25 because that's when people reach their peak performance, and the younger ones are useful because they've picked up fewer bad habits. "They're okay?"

"They're okay. I mean, alright, I think one guy broke a wrist after punching one of my minions in the ol' beanbag, but no permanent harm done. 'Course, it probably helps that they're all under heavy sedation. Can't have them running around and backflipping all over the place. Over."

Wei silently counts to ten, trying to decide if he believes this or not, then asks, "What sort of information do you want?"

"Stuff on your crazy ex, mostly, and... Isn't it funny how everyone has a crazy ex? Hey, do you ever wonder if maybe _you're_ the crazy ex? Like-"

Wei presses the transmit button to cut him off. "You mean Amon?"

"Yeah. Holy moly, Lieutenant, how many crazy exes do you have? Over."

"What do you want with him?"

The magnate tsks. "Okay, I don't think you understand the nature of our relationship: _I'm_ meant to be asking you questions, you're not meant to be asking me questions. But I'll tell you anyway: he's of interest to science. He knows brain things. Over."

"What'll you do with him?"

"Why do you care? Maybe you should be a little less worried about him and a little more worried about yourself. You could still have a pretty good life, pal. You ever heard that living well is the best revenge? Over."

Wei's finger hovers over the transmit button. He doesn't say anything.

The shipping magnate evidently gets bored of waiting for a reply, because there's a click, and he asks,"You want to kill him, right? Over."

Wei still doesn't reply.

"Look, if you give me information on Amon, I'll pay your therapy bill for you," the magnate says, chipper as always. "...Well, so long as it doesn't bankrupt me, anyway. So what do you say? We got a deal or not? Over."

Wei sits there for a while, staring into space, then presses the transmit button and says, "You're a... a fuckhole. Over."

"And you're just rude. No wonder Amon did most of the talking. Imagine if you had to stand on stage and give a little speech. You'd be like, 'my friggin Equalists, the fragging time has come to rid the world of fother mucking bender supremacy, tonight we're going to capture the Avatar and kick her in the fricklefrackle' and so forth. But it's okay, I'm not going to hold it against you. _Do we have a deal?_"

Wei rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Can I talk to the others before I commit to anything?"

"Hmmm. Let me think. No."

Wei opens his mouth and almost asks, 'what about the people who came here with me? What are you going to do with them?' but then he stops himself. By revealing that he gives a shit, he'd just be putting them at risk, and it's bad enough that he's showed concern over the chi blockers already.

Still, he asks, "Why not?"

"Don't trust 'em. There were a lot of people willing to sell you out, pal. And you know what, that's fine, I'm not judging them for that, but it doesn't exactly make them look _trustworthy_, you know? That's why I just want to deal with you. You might hate my guts, but I think you're fundamentally honest and reliable."

"You expect me to believe that?" Wei asks. "You just want to isolate me from the rest of the organization."

"Lieutenant, I don't think you're following me: _I'm_ able to be _here_, talking to _you_ right now, because people have already ratted on you. It's a dog-eat-dog world, buddy. As I'm sure you're aware. So hey, I guess you're already isolated from the rest of the organization. Sad but true."

Wei glances to the woman in the hut - she's been quiet the whole time - just to see if she's looking at him. He doesn't want anyone seeing his expression right now.

The woman is cleaning her glasses as if she hasn't noticed anything unusual. Wei would like to thank her for her pointed disinterest in him.

He screws his eyes shut for a moment. He has to move forward somehow, he can't afford to pick a fight right now, and he can't stay here in the listening station forever. And it might be worth asking the magnate for the names of all the people who sold him out. Assuming the magnate won't lie, and hasn't lied already.

He presses the transmit button. "Fine. I'll help you. What do you need to know? Over."

"Great! We'll talk more later," the magnate says, blandly. "Out." And then there's just the crackle of static.

The woman puts her glasses back on.

Wei stares at her and drums his fingers against the radio table.

"Are you going to behave, then?" the woman asks.

"Guess so," says Wei.

"Good." She moves closer to him, and looks him up and down. "No offense, but you're known for-..."

There's an odd _clank_ somewhere outside, some distance away. The woman pauses. She gives Wei a 'what the hell was that?' kind of look, and he finds some twisted satisfaction in her unease, even though he should probably be just as worried as she is.

"You stay here," the woman says, then moves to the door of the listening station so she can address someone outside. "Excuse me, I need you to pat this gentleman down for weapons and take him to the mainland. Now. Please."

Having said that, she glances back at Wei, tells him, "Don't move," and slips outside the hut, enviably calm and collected. Barely three seconds pass before she's replaced by two burly goons who're still wearing chi blocker uniforms. Cheeky bastards.

Wei slowly stands up, gritting his teeth, and hopes they won't rough him up, otherwise he'll probably cry and puke on them. Sure, they have no reason to rough him up, but that doesn't mean they _won't_. People are funny like that.

Fortunately, the goons just do as they're told: they pat him down, and pocket everything he has. Including his painkillers (fuck dammit). It's like a very polite mugging. Wei tells himself that he's binding his time and that when the moment is right, he's going to kill them all, because this makes him feel better.

The goons then usher him out of the listening station. Wei looks around. The area is now deserted. He can't even hear engines. When he peers in the direction of the area where the Khagan is docked, he thinks he might be able to see lights, but that's it.

One of the goons puts a hand on his shoulder, much to his chagrin, and steers him through a narrow path between the trees. Wei keeps looking around for the other Equalists but there's no sight of them. He strains his ears, yet there's just the sound of the wind in the trees. He wants to shiver.

There's absolutely nothing to indicate what caused the _clank_ he heard a few minutes ago. He watches the goons to see if they're nervous, but their expressions are blank and their movements are slow and deliberate.

The trees thin out, and the loam underfoot is replaced by pebbles, and the goons take him to a scrubby, windblasted little beach where a pontoon has been set up. Moored at the pontoon is a speedboat. It's not one of the ones manufactured by Future Industries. Wei boards the boat without being told.

He pays close attention to the sound of the engine starting up. The engine is usually quiet; Wei wishes he could tell Sato about it. The cowling doesn't show anything to indicate who made the thing, and Wei sulks over this as he watches the island recede into the distance.

They travel across choppy grey water for an uncomfortably long time, until they reach a small fishing trawler that's idling out in the ass-end of nowhere. The goons haul Wei aboard.

Wei crams himself onto a small bench in the wheelhouse, and tries to stay awake.

* * *

><p>Wei opens his eyes when one of the goons pokes him in the arm. The trawler has stopped bouncing across the waves, and Wei is unspeakably glad about this, because he feels like his back is actively trying to murder him. It's like his spine has been replaced by hundreds of tiny mousetraps.<p>

"Come on," the goon says. "This way."

The trawler has been moored... Uh, somewhere. Somewhere with a beach and lot of big trees covered with vines and moss. Wei squints at the daylight as he's led outside and off the boat. It looks like there's a forest that follows the coastline. He can't see any buildings other than the crude, scrubby little dock he's standing on. The air is warmer than it was in Republic City, though, so they must've travelled east or west rather than back up north.

There's a dirt road leading away from the beach, and there's a Satomobile idling nearby. The goon puts a hand on his shoulder again, and points him towards the vehicle.

Wei labels the current goon Goon #1, though he's not sure if Goon #1 is the official lead dog or not. Goon #1 has a face like a slab of beef that's had human features punched into it. Goon #2 is already standing on the beach. Goon #2 is technically kind of attractive, though this is pretty much wasted on Wei right now. Goon #3 is inside the Satomobile. Goon #3 looks vaguely like a fence Wei used to sell stuff to. Wei wonders what happened to him. Goon #3 also looks extremely bored.

There's also a Goon #4, who was steering the trawler, but it doesn't look like Goon #4 will be accompanying them, so fuck Goon #4, Wei hopes his boat gets eaten by the Haetae Isles sea monster.

Wei is given the back passenger seat of the Satomobile. It must be one of the newer models, because it has safety belts, like an airplane. Wei fastens his belt purely for the hell of it, because it seems hilariously redundant given his general life expectancy. The Satomobile's suspension creaks in protest as the other goons climb inside. Goon #3 vacates the driver's seat so Goon #1 has the wheel.

Goon #1 starts the engine. Wei rubs his eyes and tries to focus.

"You okay, buddy?" Goon #3 asks.

"Yeah," Wei says, "Fine."

"Well, so long as you don't pass out on us," Goon #3 says.

Wei is pretty tempted to drop dead or fall into a coma just to spite everybody.

The Satomobile trundles along for a while. The bumpy dirt road makes it even more uncomfortable than the boat ride. Wei tells himself that, if the Equalists had been victorious, the first thing they would've done was ensure that every road in Republic City was perfectly flat for the benefit of sad old assholes with back injuries.

He looks out the wind and watches the trees go by. He's vaguely aware that he should be plotting his escape, or coming up with some good bullshit to feed to the magnate, but the word 'should' just seems like a pretty novel concept at this point and he swears he can feel his brain slowly shutting down. And that's just not good enough, really, but he doesn't care enough to snap himself out of it.

He yawns.

Out the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of light. Goon #1 is raising a lighter to the cigarette in his mouth. Wei immediately wakes up.

That lighter looks very familiar.

And it looks familiar because it's Wei's. It's the lighter that Goon #1 took from him earlier. Which is funny, because Wei doesn't smoke... Well, not unless he's been set on fire, and getting set on fire is only one of the many horrible things that may befall a man who's foolish enough to use a lighter that was given to them by _Lan_.

Goon #1 spins the lighter's wheel.

Shit.

Wei can't actually remember what the lighter actually does, so he just screws his eyes shut and hopes for the best.

Nothing happens.

Wei opens his eyes find Goon #3 giving him an odd look, while Goon #1 has paused and is watching him in the rear view mirror, the unlit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. Wei almost tells him to keep his eyes on the road.

"What the hell's your problem?" Goon #3 asks Wei.

"I thought I was gonna sneeze," Wei answers.

Goon #1 glances down at the lighter, then looks back at Wei in the rear view mirror again. After some thought, he winds down a window and flings the lighter out the window. Wei braces, but the lighter just lands silently somewhere in the undergrowth.

"Listen," Goon #1 says. "We just gotta take you someplace and then you'll be safe. This is meant to be a simple job. We _want_ it to be a simple job. Nobody has to get hurt. Nobody wants any complications. Do you follow?"

"Yeah," Wei says, "Sure."

Goon #1 keeps eyeballing him in the mirror.

Wei eyeballs him right back. "Okay, I'm not sure how stupid you think I am, but there's no way I'm going to try any funny business when I have no idea where I am and I'm stuck in a car with three guys who're bigger than me and I already feel like shit."

Goon #1 mulls over this, then nods. "What happened to you?"

"I got bounced off a wall."

"What, by the Avatar?"

"No."

"My second cousin said he saw her kick you in the face once," Goon #1 says.

Wei opens his mouth to say that never happened and _even if it did_ there's no way some asshole's second cousin would've seen it. But he changes his mind, and just resumes watching the trees.

"What's the tallest building you've ever fallen off?" Goon #1 asks.

Wei hesitates, then answers, "The Republic City Arena."

Goon #1 whistles. "How bad did it mess you up?"

Wei gives a very small shrug, on the defensive. "I was okay. I landed in the water."

Now Goon #3 snorts, and chimes in, "From that height? Landing in the water would still be like hitting the pavement."

"I was okay," Wei repeats, though for some reason, this nags at him.

"Either you're one lucky guy," Goon #3 says, "Or you're a liar."

"Hey," Goon #1 tells Goon #3. "Shut the fuck up, buddy."

Goon #3 gives a little grunt.

"Yeah, don't mind him," Goon #1 says. He takes out his own lighter and puts it to his cigarette. "I was just curious, I didn't want to start an argument about-"

Then all Wei hears is a bang like a Satomobile backfiring right by his head. He reflexively winces and shields his head with one arm, while his other hand grips the seat as the engine revs and the vehicle swerves and accelerates.

He has just enough time to think: _you know, my luck is either really good or really bad, I can never tell which-_

And then there's a crunch of metal and a jolt of pain - inertia shoves Wei against his seatbelt - then silence. Wei opens his eyes. The windscreen is full of tree trunk. He becomes aware that something is hissing. It's probably the radiator. Yeah, there's a plume of steam coming out the front of the vehicle, and-

Well, looks like they've hit a tree.

Actually, they have definitely hit a tree. Hitting a tree is a thing they have done.

Wei remembers something, Lan's voice: _the cigarette in the back, the one that's a different way around to all the others. That one explodes._

This would be why no one ever asks Lan for cigarettes.

Someone groans.

Wei does not turn to look at Goon #1, or what's left of Goon #1's head, and if there are blood spatters inside the car, he pointedly does not notice them.

By now, Wei has had a lot of practice at functioning when things go wrong, so he's able to carefully unbuckle his seatbelt. He then yanks the Satomobile's door open, and runs. His legs don't want to move, and he has to concentrate in order to avoid tripping over his own feet, but adrenaline eclipses the pain. He runs like he's twenty years younger and he's competing in a race where the grand prize is your own personal distillery and a lifetime's supply of good head.

He bolts into the forest and pushes through the undergrowth, covering his face with his arms to keep twigs and branches away from his eyes. It's only when breathing gets too difficult that he dares to look over his shoulder.

Then his right foot misses the ground, and he stumbles.

Old habit keeps him from putting his hands out to break his fall. He braces himself for the impact. The world rushes past him, a blur of dirt and leaves.

The impact takes too long to come, and then there's just a _thud_, and-

* * *

><p>Everything is quiet. Wei opens his eyes. The sky is visible through the gaps in the branches overhead, and there's distant birdsong. There's also something that looks like a small stone cliff just a few steps away from where Wei is lying.<p>

_Did I just fall down a ravine?_ Wei thinks.

His surroundings suggests that _yes, yes he did._

That's new, Wei thinks. Never fallen down a ravine before. Fortunately, it's not a very big ravine. The stone is grey and speckled with green moss. The pattern of it looks a little like words, words in a language that Wei doesn't understand. He wants to believe that the words say something profound, and he could just figure them out if he concentrated hard enough.

Wei listens to the world. It's peaceful.

Hey, he then thinks. Maybe the fall fixed my back. Maybe it popped my slipped disc back into place. That'd be ironic.

Wei tries to get up, and almost screams.

No, apparently the fall did not fix his back.

Wei grits his teeth, rolls onto his side, and carefully pushes himself up. He can still stand.

He looks around for the goons, but there's still no sign of them. So, he allows himself a small smile that probably just makes him look completely demented, and then he trudges along the bottom of the ravine until it levels out. The forest isn't particularly dense, and the loamy ground is easy to walk on, so long as he minds the occasional tree root.

It occurs to him that he'd better head back towards the coast. He tries to retrace his steps back to the dirt road.

Wei walks until time loses all meaning and the pain is so bad that he can almost hear it yelling at him. It's too cloudy to see the position of the sun, but his stomach tells him that it might be mid-day.

Eventually he comes to an old shrine by a small pool, and stops for a break. He still has no idea where he is.

The shrine is just a stone table, surrounded a few crumbling pillars and some small animal statues that are too misshapen to be identified. It's impossible to tell who built the thing: there's nothing particularly Earthy or Fire Nation-y about its design, and the table itself is just a slab of rock balanced on four wobbly legs, held together by crumbling plaster. There isn't even a spirit tablet to say who the shrine belongs to. Wei only knows it's a shrine because, well... Why else would someone stick a stone table in the middle of nowhere?

Wei eyes the shrine speculatively, because he is out of ideas and he's fucking had it with everything.

It's a winter solstice soon, right?

He digs in his pockets for an offering, but the goons did a pretty good job of looting him earlier. In the end, he settles on leaving his gloves on the shrine. They're good gloves.

Then he stands around and feels awkward.

He looks up at the trees.

He clears his throat.

"Look, uh," he says, to anyone who might be listening. "I'm not real good at this sort of thing, but I'd like a word with you. I could do with a little help right now."

He then waits.

Nothing happens.

He's not sure what he expected.

He feels like an idiot.

He has enough sanity left to take his gloves back from the shrine.

Wei begins walking again, and takes about eight steps before he notices that his right foot has fallen asleep.

He's been standing bolt upright for who knows how long. He's been moving around. There's absolutely no reason why his right foot should go numb. Unless... It has something to do with his back.

He freezes. Maybe he's been moving around too much. Maybe he should stay put and rest. But if he doesn't get out of this forest by himself, no one's going to rescue his sorry ass, and the goons are probably searching for him right now, and he has no idea what else might also be around.

He carefully lifts his right foot and puts it back down. It's fine. He can do this. He just needs, like, a walking stick or something. He's sure he saw some large branches by the shrine, so he slowly turns around and heads back.

Once he reaches the shrine again, he leans against it, steadying himself, and starts laughing.

He has no idea why he's laughing, because none of this is funny.

Then, before he can understand what he's doing, he's pushing against the shrine, hellbent on demolishing the thing. Apparently he still has just enough strength in him to be angry. The shrine's existence offends him. It's like a little monument to the sheer pointlessness of the universe, a punchline to a bad joke that's been made at his expense. The pain in his back now seems irrelevant. He just wants the shrine gone. He realizes that he's screaming obscenities at it. Good. Vandalizing a shrine while screaming is the most fun he's had in the past forty-eight hours.

The shrine topples into the pool of water.

Wei stands there and takes deep, wheezing breaths, as if he's been punched in the stomach. He staggers back, suddenly finding it hard to stand.

It's so quiet.

It takes Wei a moment to realize that the shrine fell into the pool without making a splash.

Wei spits on the ground, his mouth tasting of blood, and leans over to look into the pool.

The pool is black and mirror-still. Wei's reflection stares back, wide-eyed and grinning.

Then the reflection is split apart by a woman's hand emerging from the inky darkness.

The hand rises. And rises. And grabs Wei by the neck.

And it's not a woman's hand, because last Wei knew, women didn't have six-foot-long arms with seven elbows.

Wei is at a point in his life where he's not even remotely surprised by any of this.

The hand grips his throat, and yanks him into the water.


	6. Chapter 5: Winter ASC 170

Wei opens his eyes and finds himself lying by the side of the pool. He's not sure what just happened, but he quickly concludes that it was probably terrible. There's a part of him that hopes he just hallucinated the past two days because he's been dumb enough to drink too much of the wrong thing, even though he's at least forty-three years old and he's meant to know better.

His vision is still pretty dark around the edges.

He gets onto his hands and knees, and drags himself over to the pool so he can splash some water on his face.

His perspective shifts, and when he reaches out towards the water, his fingers touch canvas.

The pool isn't real. It's a backdrop. Wei blinks to focus his eyes, glances over his shoulder, and finds himself looking down at a courtyard containing rows of chairs and tables.

He's sitting on floorboards, not dirt and loam. He's on a stage.

The sky is black, and there are no stars. Everything is illuminated by red lanterns. Their light seems to pulse slightly.

Wei considers lying down and staying like that until things improve, but something catches his eye.

The chairs and tables are all vacant, all except for chair on the front row, which is occupied by a skinny little dog with grey fur and pointy ears. It looks like one of those dogs you see eating garbage on the side of the road.

The dog peers at Wei with beady blue eyes and thumps its tail against the seat.

Wei faces the dog properly, and sits down. He twiddles his thumbs. He wonders, not for the first time, if he's really dead.

Wei sucks his teeth for a moment. Then, as he's sure there's no one around to overhear him, he tells the dog, "You know, I'm not having a very good week."

The dog jumps off the seat, scrambles up onto the stage, and trots closer. It licks his hand.

Wei idly pats its head. It's a funny-looking dog, with a pointy face and a fluffy tail. Maybe its got some fox in its ancestry. Wei tries to recall what he's heard about foxes. All he knows is that they eat people's livers. He's reasonably sure that the dog-thing won't do that, though. If anyone ate Wei's liver, it'd probably choke them.

Or do foxes eat hearts? Wei isn't sure.

The dog-thing nuzzles Wei's palm.

Wei gets an odd lump in his throat.

"Do you know where I am, girl?" he asks the dog-thing. He has no idea why he thinks it's a girl, but there you go.

The dog-thing sits down and scratches its right ear. "I know where everybody is," it says, without moving its mouth.

Right. A talking dog. That's fine. That's just fine. Things could be worse.

Wei runs through a mental checklist of every scenario that could result in him talking to a dog. "Are you a spirit?" he asks, because he wants to rule that out before moving on to the nastier questions like, 'What have I done to myself this time?', and 'Is this what people call a 'psychotic episode'?'.

He should probably be scared.

The dog-thing wags its tail again. "I am a spirit, yes."

"Or," Wei says, still unable to shake the feeling that the universe is laughing at him, "I'm just in the presence of a good ventriloquist."

"Actually, it's both," the dog-things says. "I'm an _amazing_ ventriloquist."

"That's... nice," Wei replies, then resumes twiddling his thumbs. He is having a conversation with a dog. "So you're a spirit."

"Yes."

Wei chooses to believe the creature, because all the other alternatives are too grim. He's never met a spirit before, but he'd like to think that they can't be as dangerous as people.

"Where am I?" he asks.

"In the spirit world."

Yes, that would figure. Where else would you talk to a spirit? In the spirit world. Ask a stupid question, Wei.

"So it's not like, uh, I _think_ I'm talking to you when I'm really just standing on the side of a road, ranting to myself, right?" Wei asks. He has a vivid mental image of himself yelling at people in the street while wielding a bottle.

"No," says the spirit. It's difficult to figure out its gender from its voice, but there's something about it that reminds Wei of a precocious teenager.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Wei says. "You could be part of my delusion."

The dog-thing lets out a little sigh. "The truth of anything is fundamentally unknowable."

"That's... Not the answer I wanted to hear, thanks."

"All you have in this world is what you think you know. And what you think you know is this: you are talking to a spirit, and the spirit is telling you that you're not delusional," the dog-thing says.

"Well, shit," Wei says.

The dog-thing prods his hand with its nose. It has a very warm nose, for a dog. "Do you want to go back to the physical world?"

"Yeah, I..." Wei begins, and thinks about it. There are so many thing he needs to do, and he'll never be strong enough, or smart enough, to see them through. "...I don't know. I'm tired."

"I know," the dog-thing says. "But you still want to find Amon, don't you?"

Wei looks over at the little creature. It watches him patiently, as if it wants him to throw a scrap of food.

Wei feels the hairs on the nape of his neck rise.

"What do you know about him?" Wei asks, very carefully.

"I know that he went around telling other humans that the spirits were on his side. Which was very rude."

Wei says nothing.

"To add insult to injury, if he HAD approached us and asked for assistance, some of us would have been happy to oblige," the dog-thing continues. "But... No. That would have required patience and respect on his part. He's a very silly man."

Wei looks out across the theater, taking in its opulence. The stage is painted a rich dark red - the paint is so shiny that it seems sticky and wet - and the pillars are carved with Fire Nation designs, florid and sinuous and... Actually, you know what, Wei decides that he'd better not look at the pillars, because the carvings are trembling slightly as if they're trying not to move, and Wei would like to pretend that he hasn't noticed this.

"Humans just don't seem to be scared of us any more," the dog-thing muses.

"Should I be scared of you?" Wei says, focusing all of his attention on the dog-thing now.

Its tail wags faster. "You? No. I like you."

"I, uh, destroyed a shrine," Wei feels compelled to admit, because if this things is going to eat his heart or his soul or whatever, then he'd like to get that over and done with.

"Yes, you were very angry," the dog-thing says. "But don't do that again, okay?"

"Uh. Okay."

"I know you're not a bad person, you just get _so mad_ sometimes," says the dog-thing. "You're human, after all."

"...Y-yeah," Wei says, then rubs at his temples. If he didn't have a headache to begin with, he'd definitely have one now. "Look, what do you want from me?"

The dog-thing swivels its ears back, and fidgets, submissive. "Well, I don't want your trust, for a start. I don't _expect_ your trust. I just want your help, if you're willing to give it."

"Really," says Wei.

"Really. I could use your help in finding Amon."

Ah. Yes. Everything comes down to Amon. "Why?" Wei asks. He's quickly starting to suspect that spirits are just as shitty as humans, in exactly the same ways.

"Because you have a human form, and I don't. I... can't just wander around the physical world by myself. It's dangerous," the dog-thing says. "In return, I could make you stronger. And I could tell you things."

Wei holds his hands up. "Wait. Why do you _want_ to find Amon?"

The dog-thing curls its upper lip slightly. "Are you ready for a bit of exposition?"

Wei just fixes the dog-thing with a hard stare.

"Very well, I'll try to keep it short and sweet," the dog-thing says. "It's like this: I may be small, but I have pride. And I don't think Amon should've been allowed to run around telling people that he represented us spirits when he _didn't_. That was... That was really rude. Someone should have done something about that, and it worries me that he was just _allowed_ to do it, and no one challenged him. I mean, the Avatar didn't even talk to anyone about it, she didn't see it as an issue, though to be fair she's just a human girl and she's not without bias, and I-..."

The dog-thing pauses.

"...I'm dissatisfied with the way things are currently progressing," it says. "But it's not just that. I also want to find Amon for another reason. I want to find him because he knows stuff about meat."

Oh. Meat.

"Right," Wei says, "So you... Wait, what?"

"Meat!" the dog-thing says. "It's one of the things you humans are made of. And you just... You just _have it_. It grows around you. By itself! You don't have to consciously make it or put any effort into it or anything! And it stores energy so well! And it's _always, always changing!_ And... Uggh, you don't even appreciate it, but it's amazing. You know the spirit world? It doesn't have any meat. At all. Everything is just made of chi. Meat is why humans are quick and clever and spirits are slow and stupid."

Wei tries to think of a good reply to that, and just settles on, "Hm." He discreetly looks around the theater for an exit.

"Meat," Wei repeats.

The dog-thing nods. "He's a meatbender."

"That just sounds wrong," Wei tells it.

"Blood. Meat. Same thing," says the spirit.

For some reason, Wei's mind snags on the 'it stores energy so well' bit that the dog-thing just said. He thinks of batteries. He wonders if the dog-thing even knows what a battery is.

"So yes, if you help me find Amon, you can have revenge against him and I can eat his brain," says the dog-thing. "Win-win situation."

Yes, Wei has gone back to wondering what sort of horrible thing he drank in order to make this conversation possible. He expects spiders to start coming out of the walls any moment now.

"Can you repeat that last part, please?" Wei says.

"I said, it's a win-win situation."

"I meant the bit about brains."

"I said, I can eat his brain. In a manner of speaking."

"...Do you eat brains often?" Wei asks, because that seems like a good question to ask when one is discussing the eating of brains.

"No. Few of them contain anything of value."

Is that why the spirit hasn't eaten Wei's brain yet? "So..." Wei says, picking out each word carefully, "You. You want. You want to eat Amon's brain?" He has a mental image of the dog-thing adding the brain to some stir-fry. Delicious.

"Brain. Mind. Same thing."

Wei remembers the thing he heard about foxes eating hearts.

"This is all a bit too weird for me," Wei states.

The dog-thing actually shrugs. Dogs aren't really designed to shrug, but this one pulls it off pretty well.

"And if you _did_ eat the guy's mind, then what?" Wei asks.

"I'd have a better understanding of humans. Which might be a good thing to have, given the way the world is going."

"What do you mean?"

"Hmmm." The dog-thing screws its eyes shut in thought for a few seconds. "Humanity advances every day, while the spirit realm changes slowly, if at all. And humans are known for their aggression. They're invasive. They're voracious. How long before they start trying to exploit us for their own benefit?"

Wei concedes that it has a point. Humans have few qualms about exploiting other humans, never mind exploiting anything else.

Still, he wonders.

"Just so we're clear, if you're thinking of starting some humans-versus-spirits type fight, I'm not up for that," he says, levelling his index finger at the dog-thing.

The dog-thing's tail thumps against the floor. "After all you've been through, I think your loyalty to your own kind is admirable. But no, I don't want to instigate a war. Wars are expensive, as I'm sure you know. I'm just trying to be proactive so I'll be prepared for when... What's the saying? When the shit hits the fan."

There's clearly more to this than the spirit is letting on. "Do you reckon the shit's going to hit the fan soon, then?"

"The blades are getting precariously close to the manure, yes."

The spirit is raising more questions than its answering, and Wei doesn't need any more questions in his life. He's not even sure if he _wants_ to know what the spirit is talking about. He probably wouldn't give a shit if the whole world just randomly exploded tomorrow. In fact, he'd probably like it if the world just randomly exploded. That'd be a nice, straightforward end to things.

And, of course, he's still not sure that the spirit is telling the truth.

"Right. So why do you want my help for finding Amon, then?" Wei says. "What makes me so special?"

"Like I said, you have a human form, and I don't. If you let me hitch a ride with you, I can move around the physical world without being detected."

Wei takes a deep breath. The dog-thing holds up a paw.

"And before you ask, I want to keep a low profile because the physical world is notoriously dangerous," the dog-thing adds. "There are _reasons_ why spirits only visit the physical world for short periods of time. Humans always want things from us. Or sometimes they want to harm us just to prove a point."

"So you want me to carry you around, so no one notices you?"

"That's correct."

Wei thinks. How does one carry a spirit, exactly?

"You're talking about possession, right?" he asks.

"'Possession' is a very loaded term," says the dog-thing. "I just want you to share your body with me. For a short while."

"That sounds..." Wei says, very slowly. "...Even worse."

The dog-thing gives him a blank look.

"So if I let you possess me, you're gonna be wandering around the physical world looking like _me_, right? You'll be a spirit in a Lieutenant costume."

"You'll still be in control of yourself," the dog-thing says. "I'll just be offering assistance."

The little cogs in Wei's brain turn away, and he says, "Hmm. Sounds to me that you think I can give you some...whassit... Plausible deniability."

The dog-thing _flickers_, as if it's a shadow puppet and the puppeteer has just lifted away from the screen for a split second.

"You're only trying to bargain with me because you think I'm an easy mark," Wei states. "I know this dance."

Wei stands up, carefully. His back doesn't hurt, and the absence of pain is pretty weird. He almost expects the pain to spring on him as soon as he drops his guard, as if it's just waiting for him to get complacent.

"Really, you find it so hard to believe that someone might want to _help_ you," the dog-thing murmurs, flattening its ears against its skull.

"Yep." Wei has no idea why he asked the spirits for help in the first place. He's not sure what he was expecting. And, great, he can sense a big old wave of despair rolling in like a thundercloud. As soon as he gets out of here, he's going to find a wine shop and have a long think about his options.

He looks at the courtyard. He has no idea how he's going to leave this place, but damned if he's not going to try.

"How do I get out of here?" Wei says, because it never hurts to ask.

"You really want to leave?" the dog-thing says - not angry, just surprised, and maybe even a little horrified. "Like... You're just going? Just like that?"

Wei walks past it, and hops down from the stage so he can search the courtyard for an exit.

"I mean, if you want to leave, then fine. I don't want to make an enemy of you, and I can't keep you here," says the dog-thing, "But... Lieutenant, you're hurt, and you don't have any friends back in your world. There are people who want to kill you."

Ha. Even a spirit calls him Lieutenant.

"I'll take my chances," Wei mutters. The spirit reminds him of the shipping magnate.

The spirit doesn't reply, but Wei can feel it watching him.

Wei walks past the chairs and tables to a door set in the courtyard wall. He wonders why he didn't notice the door earlier. The courtyard's walls are high and featureless - prison walls, Wei thinks, with a sick feeling - but then there's just this random door, painted Fire Nation red. There's nothing to indicate that it's bolted.

"Wait," the dog-thing says.

Wei pauses.

"If you're going back to the physical world, is there anywhere you want to go _to_? I could make that door open to almost anywhere you want," says the spirit.

Wei rests a hand on the door, not opening it just yet. "Anywhere?"

"Almost anywhere. Somewhere with a reflective surface. And somewhere you won't be seen."

This sounds far too good to be true. The dog-thing would need some serious mojo to pull off something like that.

"Why would you do me any favors?" Wei asks. He hates favors. People only offer favors when they intend to collect on them later.

The dog-thing looks up at the black sky, licks its nose, and emits a small cough. "You're pretty."

Wei turns around so he can stare at the spirit. He's unable to think of a reply beyond 'fuck off', and he doesn't even say that much.

"Please just pick somewhere," the dog-thing mutters.

Wei's just going to forget that the past minute actually happened.

"Gaipan," Wei says. Gaipan is far away from Republic City, and he heard someplace that the region produces good wine. Wei needs to find a wine shop very badly.

"Okay. Fine. You'll end up a few miles away from the city's north side. You should see some mountains in the distance - walk towards them until you reach a road, then follow the road south," the dog-thing says. "Word of warning, though: time works differently here, so you might return to the physical world and find that a few days have passed."

"Thanks for the heads-up," Wei mutters, and shoves the door open. He doesn't actually care what's on the other side. All he wants is to be away from this place, with its red stage and its high walls and its weird little dog bastard who apparently wants to get in his pants.

Just as the door opens, he gets a whiff of burning paper.

* * *

><p>Wei swallows a mouthful of water. He flounders, and finds himself trying to stay afloat in a lake. All it takes is a short, painful swim to the shore before he's back on dry land.<p>

He knows he's in the physical world because everything feels real. Like pain. The pain definitely feels real. His spine still hates him, which is oddly reassuring.

Wei coughs up some more water, staggers to his feet, unpeels his moustache from his face, and looks around. Yeah, there are mountains in the distance. Wei starts trudging towards them. When he eventually reaches the road that the dog-thing mentioned, he's too tired to feel surprised.

He wonders if he made the right decision.

He also wonders what the fuck grabbed him and pulled him into the pool earlier.

In retrospect, he should've asked about that.

Wei walks with his eyes closed, only opening them occasionally so he can check where he is.

* * *

><p>It's late evening when the outer wall of Gaipan comes into view. The spirit really wasn't lying.<p>

Wei passes a few small huts and stalls, until he comes to an inn on the town's outskirts. The building is big and ugly, but a warm glow emanates from the windows, and Wei can just make out the murmur of people talking. There's also the faint smell of stew (which, unfortunately, isn't particularly different from the smell of armpits, yet still smells better than anything else Wei has eaten during the past few weeks).

Wei's stomach rumbles. He pats his pockets.

It's only then that he realizes he doesn't have any money, since the goons took all his stuff earlier.

He stands in the middle of the road, still damp with lake water, and reflects on his situation: he's tired, his back hurts, he needs to kill Amon, he doesn't know where any of the other Equalists are right now, he can't remember when he last ate, he can't remember what day it is, wanted by the United Forces, and he's out of painkillers.

And he can't even get drunk.

It's the last one which breaks him.

He turns, mechanically, and retraces his steps. Maybe he can find the lake he just came from.

* * *

><p>Wei eventually comes to a lake. He's not sure if it's the correct lake, but it's a lake, so fuck it, who cares? Not him.<p>

He walks into the water until it's up to his waist, and clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. He hadn't noticed how cold it was before.

"Hey," he says, quietly. "Fox spirit dog thing. I was wrong. You were onto a good idea. Sorry."

Then he waits, shivering.

The temperature of the water becomes more tolerable, and the silence is only broken by distant birdsong. The breeze creates a few sluggish ripples, and the sky is so clear that Wei could probably pick out constellations, if he had any idea what the constellations looked like. The moonlight makes the world look like it's been drawn in charcoal. There are trees bowed around the lake's shores, branches dipped into the water as if in supplication.

Wei finds it difficult to stay awake. He's struggling to keep his eyes open when a small, grey head breaks through the lake's surface.

"It's okay," the spirit says, gently. "Really. Hold out your hand."

Wei holds out his right hand, palm downwards.

The spirit sinks its teeth into his fingers.

* * *

><p>"Wei," says a man's voice, close by. It sounds familiar. "You can wake up."<p>

Wei opens his eyes. He's somewhere bright and airy, with pale green walls and a high ceiling.

He's so comfortable.

This is the most comfortable he's ever been. It feels post-orgasmic. Things like pain and misery are alien concepts. There's no past, no future. There's just the present, which is warm and soft.

He shuts his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

"Wei," the voice says, firmer now, "If you don't move soon, you'll get cramp in your right arm."

There's someone in the room with him. Wei tries to recall the past day or so. Does the voice belong to the guy who owns this room? Did Wei just get laid? Is that why he feels so content? Is the guy going to kick him out now? Is there any chance he can grab some breakfast before the guy's wife turns up? Isn't it strange that he's not hungover?

He really is getting cramp in his right arm.

Wei slowly sits up, and scratches his ribs. He looks around, and takes stock of the following: the sheets are silk, the bed is huge, and there's a disassembled radio set neatly laid out on the floor. He can't see the guy who spoke.

Wei wonders where Amon is, then wants to slap himself.

He looks down at his chest. He's wearing a nightshirt that definitely isn't his, because he's the sort of dipshit who wastes money on buying nightshirts instead of sleeping in their regular clothes like a sensible person. There's some more stuff folded neatly on a chair next to his bed. They can't be his, because they look expensive.

The room has a large glass window at the end of it, and it shows rooftops beneath a grey winter sky. Despite the weather, the room is warm. Someone, somewhere, clearly has money.

There's a dressing table in a corner, so Wei slips out of bed and walks over to it. His mouth is dry, and he has that lovely 'I've just slammed my hand in a door'-feeling that he usually gets when worried.

Wei looks at himself in the mirror of the dressing table.

Some asshole has stolen his moustache.

"What the fuck," he announces.

"Yeah, sorry, the moustache had to go," he then says. "It made you too easy to identify."

Wei stands there and stares.

Did he just refer to himself in second-person? And, more importantly, why did he just say that? Did that really happen?

He straightens up, crosses his arms, takes a few paces, then puts his hand over his mouth.

"It's okay," he says. "Relax."

Wei's incapable of relaxing. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

Gently, he says, "Oh dear. You remember our arrangement, right?"

Wei shakes his head. He doesn't know who he's talking to. "What arrangement?"

"I said I needed a human form. You agreed to this. Please, I don't want you to be upset about it..."

There's something crouched at the back of Wei's mind. Something that wasn't there before. He can just barely imagine it: something quick and silvery, and kind of warm, and not entirely unpleasant.

"Can you shut the fuck up, please?" Wei asks. "I need a moment."

He paces up and down the room, staring at the spotless floorboards. He remembers the spirit and all its sharp little teeth biting into his hand.

"You're in my head," Wei states, as a few things clunk into place.

"Sort of," comes the reply. Wei hears his own voice speaking, but the inflection is different. And it sounds so calm, so patient. Even a little bit apologetic. "It's just a temporary arrangement, though. Once I'm done with Amon, I'll leave. I promise to behave myself in the meantime."

"What's your name?" Wei says. His own voice sounds hoarse.

"Jing. Sorry I didn't introduce myself before."

Wei shakes his head, and paces back over to the dressing table so he can brace himself against it.

"I really am sorry about the moustache," Jing says (Wei definitely wants to think that Jing is the one talking right now, because things are easier that way), "So I hope you won't be upset about the haircut as well. I thought-"

Haircut?

Wei takes a proper look at his reflection.

The person who stares back is a middle-aged man with an angular, austere face and sharp blue eyes. If he smoothed his hair down, he'd pass as a high-ranking official, or a member of the military, or at least a very fancy clerk. Maybe a senior servant for a wealthy household, or the head waiter at a prohibitively expensive restaurant. In short, he looks like someone sensible.

Yes, he's definitely had a haircut.

"Well?" his reflection says, and looks a bit anxious. Mr. army general/magistrate/head waiter is now making puppy dog eyes at him.

"Stop talking," Wei snaps, and is relieved to see his own expression change to a scowl.

Jing doesn't reply.

Wei grips the edge of he dressing table. He's fine. He can (mostly) recall what happened. This is all fine. Once he's composed himself, and he's reasonably confident that he's not about to start smashing furniture or screaming at the walls, he asks, "How long have I been unconscious?"

Wei's reflection now winces, as if it's about to say, 'sorry sir but I'm afraid you can't have a table without a reservation'. "You're not going to like this. A month."

Wei's stomach lurches. "What?"

"You were injured. You needed to rest."

"No I didn't," Wei says, though this just makes him sound childish.

Jing shakes his head. Or rather, Jing shakes _their_ head. "You were in a pretty poor state. It hurt. I had to take you to a healer."

Wei lets that sink in for a moment.

"Wait," Wei says. "Don't tell I went... I mean, you made... You took me to a waterbender?"

Jing sighs and tilts his head back, so Wei finds himself staring at the ceiling. "I had to. Sorry. It was the fastest way to get you in back in fighting form. And if I'd let you stay injured, you would've just got worse.."

"You took me to a _waterbender_," Wei says.

"It was either that, or let you suffer permanent damage. I wouldn't have done if I thought I had any other choice. I suppose you could look at it this way: it was a waterbender who caused the damage, so perhaps it was fitting to have a waterbender fix it."

Wei slowly sits down on the floor, because he doesn't trust his legs to keep him standing.

"You could've asked me first," he says, in a very small voice.

"Yes, but you would've said no, and I need you to be functional."

"You had me out cold for a month," Wei says.

"Yes. And sincerely I hope I never have to do anything like that again. It was a chore."

"THAT WAS A MONTH OF MY LIFE, YOU-" Wei starts, then realizes that someone might overhear. People are going to think he's a nutjob. "...You just knocked me out cold for a month and walked around in my body and you're saying that this was a chore for you? I'm sorry, was it an _inconvenience_?"

Jing doesn't immediately reply to that. Wei gets the impression that the spirit is thinking. Eventually, Jing says, "Yes, I suppose this is pretty horrible from your perspective. I don't know what I can do to make it better. I'm so sorry."

The damn thing actually manages to sound deeply apologetic.

Wei sits on the floor for a while, fuming, while the spirit sits in a corner of his brain and mopes.

When Wei is sure that he can speak again without screaming, he asks, "What the fuck did you do with me while I was unconscious?"

"Not a lot," Jing mutters. "Honestly, the most strenuous thing I did was eat six plates of deep fried tofu, which was... not an experience that I ever hope to repeat."

Wei stretches out his left leg so he can kick at a piece of the gutted radio set that's on the floor. "And what the fuck is this?"

"I was bored," the spirit squeaks. (Wei has never heard his own voice squeak before.)

Wei puts his head in his hands, and takes a few deep breaths. Then he picks up a valve and a piece of board from the radio. "...Did you try to put this back together?"

"Yes."

"Well, you didn't get very far with it," Wei says.

"Um. Sorry."

Wei picks up a screwdriver - there's one lying close to hand - and starts trying to repair the radio, just to take his mind off everything. Maybe it'll keep him sane.

Jing falls silent. Wei gets the feeling that he's being watched.

"Where am I?" Wei asks, tiredly

"A town named Kosen," Jing replies, still very quiet. "There's a map on the dressing table. We're about ten miles from the coast. Is that okay?"

"How the hell did I get here?"

"By train."

Wei thinks about that for a moment. "Last I knew, I was broke. How did you pay for train tickets?"

Jing shrugs Wei's shoulders. "I made some rocks look like money."

"No, seriously," Wei growls, "how did you pay for the train tickets?"

"I made some rocks look like money," the spirit repeats, now sounding a little petulant. "You didn't have any coins with you! How else would've I paid?"

"How the fuck does that even work?" Wei asks. If could slap this spirit, then he would.

"I can make things look like other things!"

"How?!"

"I don't know, I thought everyone could do that!" the spirit laments. "I mean all things are all the same anyway, really, they just look different to different people, so why is this a big deal?"

Wei has no idea what the spirit is talking about. "You can make rocks look like money," he says, flatly.

"Yes!"

Wei wants to bang his head against a wall. "You do know that money is the most important thing in human civilization, right?"

"Yes," the spirit says, "Of course I know that." It speaks with the bravado of a teenage boy who's trying to convince everyone that yeah, he has totally scored with hundreds of chicks, and he definitely has a super hot girlfriend who lives in Ba Sing Se.

"We regularly kill each other over money," Wei adds. "Money determines whether people live or die. And you can just... trick people into thinking you have money when you don't."

"Ye-es," the spirit mutters, "I know."

Okay, Wei thinks, and takes a deep breath. He's not quite sure what kind of power he's got his hands on. If the spirit is telling the truth about its abilities, then that makes it akin to a portable counterfeiting operation. They'd better hope that the triads never get wind of this.

"Don't give people fake money ever again," Wei says. "It'll make us really easy to track."

"I didn't use fake money all the time. I stole a guy's wallet while he was sleeping on the train."

Wei opens his mouth to say you mean you stole stuff while pretending to be me?, and then he remembers that he's wanted for 'terrorism'. Theft is the least of his concerns. "Oh. Great. You're a regular career criminal. Did you do any other illegal stuff I need to know about?"

"No! Honest. I only stole one wallet. Apart from that, I was very boring. I was polite to everyone I met. I didn't drink alcohol, or eat too much street food, or smoke. I didn't even masturbate. Except once. By accident. Which was probably good for you, so-"

Wei throws his screwdriver at the wall, and puts his head in his hands again. For just a split second, he's dangerously close to throwing up.

"You know, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that last part," Jing mumbles. "Sorry."

Wei doesn't reply. He's too busy trying to not think about certain things.

"I, uh, got you some spectacles," Jing offers, like this is some sort of consolation prize for Wei's horrifying lack of bodily autonomy. "They're on the dressing table as well..."

Wei remains on the floor for a little while longer. Eventually, he manages to compose himself and stand up. He goes to get the map. Just as promised, there's a pair of glasses sitting next to the map on the dressing table.

Wei's hand hovers over the map for a moment, but he picks up the glasses instead, out of curiosity. Jing stays silent.

Wei puts the glasses on. He recoils. The world suddenly looks a lot more protuberant than it was before, and there's a lot of... stuff. Too much stuff.

It's actually nauseating, so he takes the glasses off again.

"If you wear them for a while and get used to them, you should stop getting headaches," Jing says, in the peppy little voice of someone who thinks they're being helpful.

Wei ignores the spirit, and opens up the map. One side shows the town, while the other side shows a chunk of what's presumably the Earth Kingdom. It doesn't tell him much.

"Amon - I mean, Noatak - is in a town on the Ruyi Peninsula, which is about an hour away from here by train," says Jing.

Wei grunts. "How do you know?"

"I used to have a job that involved finding things. So I'm good at sniffing people out," Jing says. "...And he's not difficult to sniff out, if you don't mind my saying so. I think he might be festering a little."

Wei remains suspicious, but he just shrugs, and wanders over to the pile of clothes on the chair so he can get dressed. The clothes look brand new, and the fabric is starchy and rough against his skin. It's almost like he's putting on a costume, and he keeps stealing glances at the mirror, uneasy about the stranger who stares back.

He really does look like a clerk, albeit a very well-paid clerk. The clothes suggest knowledge and wealth. Borrowed power.

"So, about this brain-eating thing," Wei mutters as he buttons his shirt.

Jing doesn't say anything, but Wei gets the sense that the spirit has just pricked its ears up.

"What's... What's that gonna involve?" Wei says. He really should've asked about this earlier. If it involves cracking Amon's head open like an egg and scooping out the contents, then... He'll be unenthused, but not unwilling. Some people deserve what they get.

"Good question," Jing says. "Well, you know how humans have both a physical body and a spirit body? It's just his spirit I'm after. I want to drag it back to my den so I can eat it in peace."

Right, maybe it's not literal brain-eating. Wei isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved. "And that means what?" he asks.

Wei's shoulders shrug by themselves again. (And Wei should be worried by how natural this feels, how quickly he's adjusting to being controlled.) "I'll open a temporary portal between the two worlds. It's not difficult, so long as there's a reflective surface nearby. I'll walk you through it. You just need to take me to him."

"If it's easy to open a door between worlds," Wei says, "why don't you just open a door right next to him, then grab the guy's spirit and skedaddle? Why drag me into it?"

"I _could_ do that, but your help is going to make it easier. The veil between worlds is, um... Well, it's like skin. It's stretchy, and if you tear through it, it heals very quickly. If I went around opening doors willy-nilly, I'd just wear myself out. It requires a lot of energy to just go around ripping holes in things. Also, there are, um, right ways and wrong ways to open doors, and if you do it wrong, it's very dangerous. I need an accomplice."

Wei thinks about this. He wonders if he's doing the right thing. Then he decides that he doesn't give a shit.

"Wei?" Jing says, quietly. "I promise it'll be like I said: once I get what I want, I'll go away and leave you in peace."

Wei just frowns as he straightens his cuffs.

"You're wondering what the catch is, right?" Jing asks.

"Huh. You can read me pretty easily," Wei murmurs.

"Well, yes, but, listen, if everything goes as planned, there shouldn't be any catches. This should be a mutually beneficial arrangement. I'm a reasonable person, Wei, and we have more to gain by co-operation."

Yeah, sure, the spirit _would_ say that.

"How many brains have you eaten before?" Wei asks.

Jing takes draws a slow breath. "To be honest... Just one."

There has to be a story there. "Did you have an accomplice then?"

"No, and uh..." Jing hesitates for a moment, and Wei feels a roll of nausea in his gut. "Things were different."

Wei side-eyes his reflection in the dressing table mirror. His reflection gives him an abject look.

"Alright," Jing confesses, "He was a Fire Nation soldier in the engineering corps. It was during the Great War. The Fire Nation did some particularly transgressive things during that time. I certainly wasn't the only spirit to attack their soldiers. There are so many people who still haven't recovered from what the Fire Nation did. Does this bother you, that I'm capable of hurting humans?"

Wei takes a moment to put on some pants and mull over things. "Not really," he says. "So what do you get, exactly, out of eating people's... brains, minds, whatever?"

"Their knowledge. Their memories."

"So you can't get, like, uh..." Wei looks up at the ceiling as he chooses his words. "...Their intelligence? Or any other inherent traits? Like, their bending?"

Jing scratches his - Wei's - chin in thought. "Why would I want things like that?"

"You don't think shit like that is important?"

"Important to humans, maybe."

Wei nods absently. "Well, just checking. I don't want you picking up Amon's bloodbending somehow. The world doesn't need another bloodbender running around."

"Hm," says Jing, and Wei senses skepticism.

Wei changes the subject. "So how're you gonna nab this guy? Because it's not like I can fight him one-on-one."

"Look under the bed," Jing says.

Wei crouches - and damn it's so good that he can move without pain - and sticks his hand under the bed, groping around until his fingers find some sort of handle. There's a suitcase. One of the big, solid, shiny ones that cost too much money. (How much cash was in that wallet Jing stole, anyway?) Wei pulls the suitcase out and opens it up. The interior is padded, and it contains a few doodads that look like pulleys, and some skinny baton-y things.

He takes a moment to mentally put all the doodads together, assembling them in his mind until he figures out what he's looking at. It's a compound bow. Gansukh has one like it, come to think of it. Though hers is a lot nicer. This one looks like the ugliest kind of prototype. Some of the parts might be Satocycle sprockets.

"Where did you get this?" Wei asks.

"Oh, you know, it's not a big deal, I just got an ordinary bow and customized it a bit," Jing says, and buffs his fingernails against his shirt.

Great. Is this thing even usable? "You can't put a radio back together, but you can customize a bow?" Wei mutters.

"Look, I know how a bow _works_, but the radio is full of wire and fiddly little silvery bits." Jing now sounds indignant. "It's not my fault you humans are really weird. One day you're using ballistas and blasting jelly, the next... You're making little maps out of tiny pieces of metal and putting them in boxes that do things."

Wei picks up a chunk of the bow. "I'm not sure I want to use this contraption. How do I know it won't snap in half and hit me in the face if I try to draw it?"

Jing hmphs. "I have the memories of a Fire Nation engineer, I'll have you know."

"Was he a good engineer?" Wei asks.

"His commanding officer thought so! He was very clever! He was clever enough to, uh..." Jing trails off. "...He was clever."

Wei turns the bow over in his hands. "How clever could the guy've been if he got his brain eaten by a spirit?"

Jing opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, then says, "...Well, _I_ think it's a good bow."

"I don't even know how to use a normal bow," Wei grumbles.

"I do. You just point it, I'll aim it. Teamwork."

Wei digs through the suitcase. It also contains a bundle of arrows, some of which have odd little metal tubes crudely attached to them. Further digging uncovers a few hypodermic syringes. Tranq darts.

Something about this strikes Wei as being very ass-backwards.

"You're a spirit," he says. "You can make rocks look like money. You can make doorways open all over the place. Why do we even need a bow? Can't you just throw spirit magic at people or whatever? And..." He remembers something. "How come you had to get to this town _by train_? Why couldn't you just open a door in the spirit world that'd take you straight to your destination?"

Jing takes a deep breath. "It's relatively easy to open doors to the physical world from inside the spirit world but it's much harder to open doors to the spirit world from the physical world because the rules are different, and I'm more familiar with the spirit world anyway, which is why I need your help catching Noatak _like I said_ and also there's a limit to how many doors I can open without drawing attention and also when you're in the physical world it's easier to follow physical rules just like how it's easier to follow spirit rules when you're in the spirit world and-"

Wei's stomach lurches.

"Okay. Shut up," Wei says, holding up a hand. "I want you to explain all this crap to me after I've had some breakfast."

Jing mutters, "I know what I'm doing."

"Right." Wei pats down his sleeves and pockets to see what's in them. His pockets just contain the room keys, enough money to buy food for a week, and a few small pebbles. "Of all the stupid assholes on this planet you could've possessed, you chose to possess me. But you say you know what you're doing."

Jing is silent for a moment, almost sheepish, and then he says (and Wei doesn't know why, but he's definitely thinking of the spirit as a 'he' now), "Can I make a request?"

"If it's not too nasty or dumb, yeah."

"Can we have dou fu nao?"

Wei sighs, runs his hands through his hair, and looks at the grey winter sky through the window. "Alright, kid. Sure."

* * *

><p>It's only when they leave the room that Wei realizes the size and lavishness of the hotel. He pads silently down long hallways until he reaches the stairs to the ground floor, and he avoids looking at the other guests. Jing stays quiet, which gives Wei just enough time to resume wondering if Jing actually exists, or if he's just a very elaborate symptom of a nervous breakdown.<p>

Wei crosses a cool green lobby and steps out into the street.

The town's buildings are small and old-fashioned compared to the ones in Republic City. Everything looks so quaint that it doesn't seem quite real, and Wei considers returning to his hotel room and staying there until the cops arrive and lock him up somewhere safe. He feels like he's a fake person in a fake town, a figment of someone's imagination, and he recalls the old story about the man who dreamed he was a butterfly. Wei briefly entertains the thought that he's an aspect of Jing's delusions, not visa-versa, and then he dismisses the idea as a load of pretentious crap.

He worries that he looks strange to people. He wonders if they can tell there's something wrong with him.

The first thing he does is nip into a shop and buy a newspaper, because newspapers provide a quick and dirty connection to reality and the wider world. Then he locates a food stall with dou hua on the menu, and takes a seat.

The woman behind the counter actually smiles at him and pats her hair when he looks her way. Wei finds it unusually easy to smile back. He's given a steaming full bowl of tofu and scallions.

The food is okay, he guesses, though he's used to eating bean curds with sugar, and this stuff tastes strongly of soy sauce. He pushes the chunks around with his spoon. He's not hungry. Jing's the one who ends up shovelling it into his mouth.

Wei just sits there and feels vaguely itchy. The prospect of killing Amon doesn't give him much joy. It's just a thing that he needs to get done. A chore.

While Jing deals with eating for them both, Wei reads the newspaper. Apparently, being possessed does wonders for your ability to multi-task.

He flicks through the pages. The smell of ink and paper is comforting.

There are 'before' and 'after' photos of the clean up in Republic City. There's a lengthy article on the trial of Hiroshi Sato, which Wei should probably read eventually, but not right now, because it's too miserable and he's too sober for it. There's a smaller article on Sato's daughter, along with a picture of her that was presumably taken a long time ago, as she looks wide-eyed and genuinely cheerful. There's an article on how the Central Earth Kingdom is having problems with bandits; apparently there was a pretty violent train robbery just last week. There's an article on the high taxes in Ba Sing Se. There's an article on a shipping vessel that's gone missing in Southern waters, presumably due to piracy. There's an article on political tensions between the North and Southern territories.

Wei hunts through the paper, searching for news about anyone he knows. He wants to know if further arrests have been made, but there's nothing. He hopes that the chi blockers are alright, then tells himself to avoid dwelling on them.

There is only a small article on the continued efforts to find Amon. The details are vague.

The article includes a picture of an Equalist poster, depicting Amon in profile against a red and white sunrise.

Wei stares thoughtfully at the mask.

Wei decides that he should find some wood. He's always been good at carving.

At the back of his mind, something small and hungry lifts is head as if scenting the air.


End file.
